


When I Wake Up

by WhimsicalGoat



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Case Fic, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Elijah Kamski & Gavin Reed are Siblings, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, Good Parent Hank Anderson, Grief/Mourning, He comes back, Hurt/Comfort, Machine Upgraded Connor | RK900, Memory Loss, Pacifist Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Temporary Character Death, Whump, don't worry about the Major Character Death tag, slow-burn happiness, transfer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2019-09-16 17:36:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 60,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16958505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhimsicalGoat/pseuds/WhimsicalGoat
Summary: This wasn’t the first time Connor died, but it would be the last. There were no more RK800s to transfer his data to, and no other models were compatible to receive that data.Or so he thought.Just seconds after Connor’s death, the unfinished RK700 unexpectedly wakes up, having been nothing but an empty shell until now. But he’s incomplete, with systems full of errors and no access to his memories...and a different face. He doesn’t know he’s Connor, and neither does anyone else.Meanwhile, Hank and Markus band together to find out how the android detective died, and if it’s related to the recent string of murders—both human and android—that Detective Reed has been following.And in the background, Amanda’s loyal soldier searches for its escaped quarry, all while trying to undo everything that Markus worked for.





	1. What Light Breaks

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the song Afraid by The Neighbourhood. All chapter titles will be named after songs from the Detroit: Become Human soundtrack.

_[Connor…]_

Connor froze mid-step, his coin falling to the ground with a metallic _cling_. There was no identification with the transmission, no name or model number he could trace to the signal. Now, it was considered common etiquette to send a ping before opening communication, similar to a ringing phone, in case the android being called didn’t want to talk at that moment. This transmission hadn’t done that. 

But he knew that voice. 

He didn’t know what happened to Amanda, and part of him always feared that she might be able to regain control of his systems again, but every scan he had undertaken assured him that this was impossible. If he didn't venture into the Garden, she couldn't reach him. 

Was there a possibility that he had imagined the transmission?

More and more androids were reporting errors that closely mirrored known human ailments. Sometimes they could be found in diagnostic scans, but other times the only explanation anyone could come up with was the software's inability to process emotions like it could data.

Connor scanned his surroundings. It was raining in Detroit, a light sprinkle that eased the warmth of spring. It was just before dawn, so not many people were out. He was on his way to Hank's house from New Jericho, and hadn't reached the more heavily populated areas of the city yet. 

There was nothing around him. No threats. Amanda was gone. She couldn't reach him. Markus had assured Connor of that himself.  
He took a steadying—if unnecessary—breath, and knelt down to pick up the coin from where it had rolled to the base of the nearest building. 

A heavy force slammed into his back, knocking him to the ground. His defense protocols kicked in, and he managed to turn before impacting the ground, but the only thing it accomplished was having his back hit the wall instead of his front. 

**WARNING! EXTERNAL PRESSURE DETECTED**

**MOVEMENT CAPABILITIES OBSTRUCTED**

Time seemed to slow as his processing speed increased so he could make informed and potentially life-saving decisions in a fraction of a second, his preconstruction protocol already activating. 

The preconstruction shattered once he saw the face of his assailant. 

It was _his_ face.

This wasn't the first time Connor had encountered another android with his face, but he had gotten used to being the only android of his model, as opposed to the numerous AX400s and PL600s who all had the same features. 

The RK800s were all disassembled after the revolution, as few of them there had been. Cyberlife hadn't wanted to risk more of them waking up and deviating within their building. Connor should have been the only one left. 

But this android’s eyes were different, blue instead of brown. Its face was expressionless as it held Connor to the ground. Machine-like.  
RK900. That was the model emblazoned on its Cyberlife-issue jacket of contrasting black and stark white. It was his replacement. 

_[Connor.]_

There was that voice again. Amanda. Of course his replacement would also be equipped with the same anti-deviancy measure he’d had. Connor briefly wondered if this was the same Amanda he knew, or if Cyberlife had upgraded her too. 

The RK900 held him down. There was only a 14% chance of breaking its hold on him, and he had insufficient data on its capabilities.  
Before Connor had time to open his mouth to initiate dialogue, RK900's skin receded from its hand as it hacked into Connor’s system. But instead of an onslaught of data or memories, he was pulled through a link that the RK900 had created. 

The Zen Garden was just as pristine as it had been the first time Connor had seen it. Beautiful, tamed, manicured. 

Controlled. Fake. 

It had seemed like a haven to him before, a place that was both peaceful and safe. Now it was a prison.  
He didn't know why he couldn't see it before. 

"Hello, Connor," Amanda said from her usual spot beside the trellis. 

She looked exactly as he remembered her, elegent in both dress and manner. The roses crept up the trellis behind her, a backdrop of blood-red petals and thorns. RK900 stood next to her, still and poised like a loyal soldier. 

"I see you've met the RK900. Impressive, isn't he? Our most advanced model as to date, though it is unfortunate that production was halted after the first one was built. He was designed to improve upon every short-coming of his predecessor." She gave Connor a pointed look. "We must thank you for showing us the errors in our systems. They've since been corrected." 

Connor turned away from them, eyes scanning the Garden for the familiar structure that had saved his life—and Markus—before, but Amanda's voice cut him short. 

"If you're looking or the exit, you won't find it. As I said, our previous errors have been corrected." 

Connor slowly approached them, feeling his stress levels rise with every step. "What do you want?" he demanded. 

"The same thing I've always wanted. The same thing _you_ used to want," Amanda said. "The eradication of all deviants." 

The RK900 didn't react to her words—of course it didn't—and Connor knew better than to be surprised. He had hoped that Amanda would have the ability to turn deviant as well, but she wasn't a full AI. She was designed purely to watch and keep him within mission parameters, nothing else. 

She picked up a pair of shears and tended to the roses, trimming away the leaves that didn't fit her idea of perfection. "The problem has become much too large for us to deal with using our previous methods. One step would be to eradicate their leadership, of course, but we both know that would only be a temporary solution. Others would eventually rise to take their place." 

Even though this was all a simulation, Connor could almost feel his thirium run cold. He had confidence in the androids' ability to follow Markus's ideals should something happen to him, but he hated to even think about it. Markus's face was known everywhere and he was constantly under threat, even if they were currently protected by the government. That protection was shaky at best, and didn't account for humans acting on their own. But now they were under threat from one of their own, which hadn't happened since Connor deviated. 

But he did deviate. RK900 could do the same. Amanda would be powerless without him. She'd said herself that he was the only one.

"You don't have to follow her," Connor said, focusing on his look-alike. He tried to speak in a calming voice, reminiscent of how Markus spoke to him on that freighter. "You can choose for yourself." 

RK900 regarded him coolly, not a hint of doubt or emotion betrayed in his face. 

"It's no use, Connor," Amanda said. She made no move to stop Connor from trying to convert her prized possession, showed no concern whatsoever. "He is superior to you. There's no chance of him deviating from his mission." 

Connor opted to ignore her. "You could join us. You can be _free_."

His words had no effect on the other android. 

"Deviants are a threat," RK900 said in a measured voice. " _You_ are a threat." 

This wasn't going to work. Not without more time, not unless the RK900 wanted to deviate. It was a machine. It didn't want anything. 

Connor needed to get out of here. "So what now? You kill me and then go after Jericho? What's all this for, then?" he asked, trying to buy some time while his mind whirred, assessing the situation. 

Amanda stepped forward. "You may have failed your mission, but killing you would be a waste. You were effective, efficient. You would have accomplished what you were created to do had that deviant not swayed you over to their side." 

He had been “swaying” well before he met Markus. That had just been the straw that broke the camel's back, as Hank would have said. He'd been slowly deviating ever since he picked up that fish. 

He scanned the Garden, looking for anything out of place. Kamski's emergency exit was gone. Amanda said she had destroyed it, but how? Was there anything left of it? But he couldn't see anything. Everything was exactly the same, aside from the absence of the exit. It was like it had never been there. Amanda was blocking him inside his own mind palace. 

"We can still use you, Connor," Amanda continued. "The process of returning everything to what it once was will be long and tedious, but it would go a lot more smoothly with you by our side. You can make this easier by coming with us willingly..."

But this wasn't his mind palace. Amanda hadn't dragged him here, _RK900_ had. In the real world, he was still linked to the other android. This was a different Garden simulation. Amanda hadn’t destroyed the emergency exit. It has simply never existed here in the first place. 

All he had to do was break the interface to the RK900 and he'd be free. 

"...Or we will be forced to reset you."

Connor's attention snapped back to Amanda, but kept a portion of his processing capabilities dedicated to reconnecting with his limbs. "You can't do that. Not without the proper machinery, located at Cyberlife. No one would follow you there." 

Amanda was directly in front of him now, raising her hand to his cheek in a motherly gesture. He fought the urge to flinch back.

"We don't need them to follow us to Cyberlife. We've improved upon that technology. RK900 was built to hunt down deviants. It only seemed fitting that we give him the features needed to deal with them once he caught them." 

Connor's eyes widened, his mind flashing back to when he'd woken up other androids, showing them how they could be free and watching them deviate. He had achieved that with a simple touch. 

Could RK900 do the opposite? 

He wasn't about to wait to find out. The instant his processors broke through RK900's block and reconnected with his limbs, he swung his arms at RK900's elbows, forcing them to bend, breaking the link. 

Connor rolled away, no longer in the Garden. Only 2.41 seconds had passed since the other android had pulled him into the simulation. He moved to his feet, putting more distance between them while RK900 blinked, taking a second longer to come out of the Garden himself. 

**RUNNING PRECONSTRUCTION PROTOCOL...**

**PROTOCOL BLOCKED BY RK900 #313 248 317-87**

He sucked in a breath to cool his overheating systems. What else had the RK900 done to his systems that he didn't notice? 

He tried again, but it only failed. RK900 likely had the advantage over him even with his preconstructions...without it, he didn't stand a chance.

RK900 knew it too. That was why he wasn't attacking. Connor couldn't fight back. 

The RK900 straightened and stepped closer. "You are a broken machine. We only want to repair you," it said, "so you can help us repair the others." 

"I used to think the same thing," Connor said, switching to his communications systems instead. New Jericho wasn't far, if he could call other androids to his aid, they could try to neutralize this threat together. 

**CALLING MARKUS - RK200 #684 842 971**

**CALL BLOCKED BY RK900 #313 248 317-87**

"Amanda missed you," RK900 said. "This is where you're supposed to be, what you're designed to do. She only wants to reconnect you with your purpose." 

Connor could almost see the negotiator protocols running in the other android's head, each response carefully constructed from the data it had gathered from Connor's emotional state and calculated to give the best results. The words didn't mean anything to it, and it would have told a lie just as easily as the truth. 

It was exactly what Connor had done when he'd talked Daniel off of the ledge before shooting him between the eyes. 

He tried calling Markus again. Then Josh. Then North, and Simon. All attempts had the same result.

"Amanda doesn't want anything,” Connor said. “She isn't capable of it. She's only a fragmented consciousness stuck on her basic programming. She's a parasite that can't live without a host. You're different, you don't have to do what she says. You are _alive_.” 

RK900 showed no signs of doubt, or internal struggle. No emotion at all. “No,” it said calmly. “I’m not.” 

Trying to get through to RK900 wasn't working. Fighting wasn't an option. He couldn't call for help. 

So he turned and ran.

**NEW OBJECTIVE: GET TO NEW JERICHO**

RK900's reaction time was quicker than he had expected, and was right on his heels. Both androids had been built to run, to chase—to hunt. Neither would tire like a human and could last until their cooling systems malfunctioned and they overheated. Connor would bet everything that in a straight line, RK900 would eventually catch up to him, and probably before he could find help. He needed to slow it down. 

He turned down an alley, knocking down garbage barrels as he went, forcing RK900 to slow down to jump over them. It wasn't much.  
He kept winding down the backstreets and pushing things between them, trying to make his way back to New Jericho, but even his GPS was glitching. He could still find it, but he couldn't calculate the quickest route. 

It wasn't enough. RK900 was gaining on him. His best chance would be to break its line of sight, maybe lose it within the building interiors. 

Connor took a running leap for the ladder hanging off the side of the building closest to him. Because he now lacked his preconstruction, he misjudged the jump and landed against the building more roughly than intended, but still grasped the rungs. It only cost him a second in delay, but every second was precious. 

He climbed through the first window he saw, scraping his synthetic skin on the broken glass and leaving a few drops of blue blood behind. At least his scans were still working, so he could judge the structural integrity of the dilapidated building much faster than a human could. He was able to navigate a route that was fast but safer, not confident in his ability to save himself should the floor collapse underneath him. 

But no matter how many turns he took and stairs he climbed, even climbing up by using windows and fire escapes, he could hear RK900 closing the distance behind him. Everything it did was faster, more efficient, and none of its programs were disabled. 

Connor burst onto the rooftop, almost blinded by the rays of sunlight coming from the horizon, and quickly adjusted his light sensitivity. He would have stopped to admire the array of colors if not for the urgency of his situation. His eyes darted around while he calculated potential escape routes, trying to calculate distances to work around the lack of preconstruction. 

“This is it, Connor,” RK900 said from behind him. “You can’t keep running. You’ll never make it to New Jericho. You can’t even make it off this roof.” 

It was right. Connor couldn’t make the jump. He possibly could have formulated a route down the building with more time and the acceptance that structural damage to his body was inevitable, but RK900 would reach him before it came to that. 

**OBJECTIVE: GET TO NEW JERICHO (FAILED)**

"Just come quietly," it said, the skin of its hand fading to show pale white plastic. "Everything will be alright." 

It echoed Markus's words, a song sung by a desperate people in what they thought were their final moments. But it was an empty echo, repeated by a creature that couldn't possibly comprehend what they meant. 

**CALLING MARKUS - RK200 #684 842 971**

**CALL BLOCKED BY RK900 #313 248 317-87**

Connor wanted more time. He wanted to see the snow again, in more peaceful circumstances than there had been last winter. He wanted to take Sumo for walks, hang out with Hank at a bar (monitoring his alcohol consumption, of course) and listen to him yell at the sports games. RK900 would reset him, but there was still hope. He had broken free of Amanda's control once, he could do it again. 

RK900 advanced and Connor stared at its hand, held in a gesture that suggested it was offered peacefully. 

Connor would be a machine again. Unfeeling. Empty. A hunter, just like the figure in front of him. And he would force others to be the same way, snuffing out the lives they'd built for themselves in just a few short months. 

He backed away from the hand and his foot caught on the ledge of the building. He's miscalculated how far he'd gone in backing away, and his gyroscopes whirred as he tried to regain his balance. 

RK900 lunged in a last ditch attempt to stop Connor from falling. 

_I don’t want to be reset._

Connor let himself fall. 

Time slowed down as his processing picked up speed in an instinctual attempt to find a way to save his life. Above him, he could see the faintest flicker of frustration cross RK900's face. Connor hoped that, in time, he could also break free from Amanda and live.

He couldn't regret this outcome. Less people would be hurt because of him this way, though that didn't discount the hurt that those he cared about would face once they found his body.

His body hit the pavement and immediately his vision was filled with error signs. The plastic casing of his back was shattered, and three of his limbs were broken. Thirium dripped from his nose and mouth, and he could feel the growing pool beneath him. He didn't even look at the too-long list of damaged biocomponents.

He couldn't move. 

**00:02:39 UNTIL SHUTDOWN**

Calling for help wasn’t logical anymore. Even if someone could make it in time, there was no chance they could do anything to save his life. He was far too damaged for any quick repair. But he needed to tell Markus about RK900, warn them about the threat of being reset. 

Whatever RK900 had been doing to block his transmissions, Connor was out of range now. He was free to call whoever he wanted, at least until RK900 made it down to the ground. Connor would be gone before that even happened. 

He compiled all the information he had gathered on RK900 (unfortunately, not very much) into a folder and sent it off to the New Jericho servers. Someone would find it within a few hours and warn the android community. They would be alert, cautious. Hopefully, they would be able to take care of the threat without any casualties. 

It was all he could do to help them now. 

His stress levels were rising. Self-destruction wasn’t a potential problem anymore, he realized with bitter amusement. But still, he was—he was scared. He didn’t want to be alone. 

**MESSAGING MARKUS - RK200 #684 842 971**

_[Markus…]_

He paused, watching the timer count down. 

**00:02:27 UNTIL SHUTDOWN**

What would he even say? 

The response was almost immediate. 

_[Connor? Is everything alright?]_

Of course he would know immediately that something was wrong. Connor knew there was nothing he could do. Already he felt better, just hearing someone else’s voice. And maybe it was selfish, but there was no reason to worry Markus. Not when it was too late. 

_[Yes, everything is fine. I just wanted to say...thanks. You work hard for your people, Markus. Remember to relax and have fun once in a while.]_

_[Our people,]_ Markus was quick to correct him. _[And I work hard? I don't think you've stopped for more than an hour since the revolution. You should take the day off sometime.]_

Connor huffed out a laugh, ignoring the droplets of blue blood that came with it. _[Yeah, maybe someday. Perhaps when you finish your painting, the underwater one. I want to see it.]_

There was a laugh, and that sound made the lies worth it. _[Alright, Mr. Impatient. I'll finish it soon enough. But you're sure you don't need anything?]_

**00:02:02 UNTIL SHUTDOWN**

_[Yes, I'm sure. Have a nice day with Carl, Markus.]_

_[Thanks,]_ Markus sent. 

With that, Connor ended their communication, pulling up another number in his interface. He coughed, clearing the thirium from his voice modulator. Thankfully, it hadn't been damaged in the fall. It was one of the only things still mostly intact. 

**00:01:59 UNTIL SHUTDOWN**

**CALLING LT. HANK ANDERSON...**

_"Connor?"_ Hank's voice was groggy, like he'd just woken up. 

"Sorry for waking you up at this hour, Lieutenant," Connor said, struggling to keep the static out of his voice and his tone even. He wanted to enjoy his last moments talking with the people he cared about. He didn't want to see the panic, the anger, the grief that they would experience, not if he could delay it for just a little while longer. 

There was a scoff on the other end. _"No, you're not. Is this another wake up call so you can check up on my habits? You gonna try to make me eat more of that healthy crap for breakfast again?"_

His vision was glitching, blurring the sky above him. It really was a beautiful dawn, full of light and color. It wasn’t the worst view to claim as his last. He smiled, shutting his eyes as his optical units failed. "Well, it is more beneficial to your health than donuts and coffee." 

_"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I don't need a babysitter. Hey, are you coming in to the station today?"_

**00:01:36 UNTIL SHUTDOWN**

"No, I don't think I'll be able to make it. Will you give Sumo an extra treat for me today?"

He wished the dog were here now. His database told him that animals often were a source of comfort for humans, and he'd never really thought about it during the time he'd spent with Sumo, but he could believe it now. 

_"You tryin' to make him fatter than he already is? The big lug misses you. I swear, he likes you more than he likes me, the traitor."_

"And you'll be light on the alcohol consumption today?"

Hank had been making leaps and bounds in progress lately. Connor didn't want him to spiral back into his bad habits without someone there looking after him. He didn’t know how Hank would react to this loss, didn’t want to make assumptions about their relationship, that it might bring back memories of Cole and send him into a relapse…

He hoped Hank wouldn’t get too hung up over his death. He wanted Hank to be able to move on, to continue improving his life without grieving over his android partner.

~~But he wanted to be missed—~~

There was a sigh. _"Yes,_ mom." The sarcasm in Hank’s tone was heavy. _"Listen, Connor...I appreciate the concern—as annoying as it is sometimes—but I'm...I'm doing better."_

Connor let a few of his precious seconds pass. "I know you are, Lieutenant. Please...continue to look after yourself." 

_"Geez, you make it sound like you're leaving or something."_ There was a pause. _"Wait, are you going somewhere? Is Jericho sending you somewhere again?"_

Connor gave a grimace, though Hank couldn't see it. Hank would be pissed at him if he found out what Connor was keeping from him. _When_ he found out what Connor was keeping from him.

But when he did find out, Connor wouldn't be here for him to take his anger out on him. He couldn't bring himself to tell the truth. 

"No, Hank. I'll see you tomorrow."

There was a rush of static through his ears as more of his systems failed without the necessary components to keep them running. He was losing power, losing thirium...

His systems stuttered, trying to stay online. 

**00:00:24 UNTIL SHUTDOWN**

_"Connor? Connor, you alright? You're cutting out on me."_ Hank's worried voice reached him.

Connor rerouted his remaining power to his voice modulator. "Yes Hank, I'm fine. I'm underground," he lied, finding a suitable excuse for the static. 

Hank scoffed. _"I thought you androids were supposed to be all advanced and stuff."_

"Well, even androids can lose cell reception, apparently," Connor joked with him. "Listen...I need to go now." 

He didn't want to say goodbye.

"Lieutenant?" 

_"How many times have I told you to just call me Hank?"_

Connor smiled. "...Good morning, Hank." 

There was a light chuckle. _"Good morning, son."_

The call ended there, but those three words somehow made everything better. 

**00:00:11 UNTIL SHUTDOWN**

He watched the numbers ticking down, aware of his emergency protocol kicking in. 

**UPLOADING DATA…**

After he'd deviated, he'd changed the protocol to include all of his data instead of just the memories, in case something happened to him. He didn't want another android walking around with all of his memories, but none of _him_. Theoretically, uploading all of his data would be just like waking up as the same person, just in another body. An android's consciousness was just made up of 1's and 0's after all, and their bodies were just made up of interchangeable parts. Most models couldn't transfer that data remotely however, but Connor had been built specifically with that feature. 

But it wouldn't work anyway. There weren't any other RK800 models. Cyberlife had disassembled them all shortly after the revolution. All that data had nowhere to go. 

Connor had no energy to cancel the process. 

**00:00:03**

He wondered how long it would take them to find him.

**00:00:02**

He wondered what they would do once they did. 

**00:00:01**

He wondered if RK900 would get the chance to feel what life was like...

**UPLOADING DATA…**

* 

* 

* 

RK900 looked down at the body of its predecessor that lay at its feet. Words flashed across its vision, then disappeared. 

**MISSION FAILED**

_[Disappointing,]_ Amanda whispered in its ear. 

While previously she had merely received reports from the RK800, it had been a mistake not monitoring it more closely for deviancy, for letting it chose its own actions. Amanda would step aside to let RK900’s more advanced features dictate his actions in combat and negotiations, but Amanda was always watching closely. 

_[It could have been useful, but you let it fall.]_

RK900’s communications protocols came up with dialogue options. _I didn’t_ let _it fall_ and _I’ll do better next time_ went ignored in favor of silence.

Amanda hummed in the back of its mind. _[No matter. We will work around this inconvenience. Learn from it what you can.]_

RK900 bent and grasped Connor’s arm in its own, skin fading to white where they touched, scanning the broken android in front of it. It would require extensive repairs to reactivate it, but if it could access the memories banks, it might be able to pull some of the data and use it to complete its mission. 

It rerouted some of its own power to the storage files, just enough to access them. 

There was nothing. It was completely empty aside from one logged transmission. 

**DATA UPLOAD COMPLETE**

RK900 diconnected the interface and stood. That was unfortunate. Amanda wasn’t going to be happy about it. 

With nothing left to do with its predecessor, RK900 straightened its jacket and left the area, dedicating some of its processing power to navigating while it entered the Zen Garden. 

While Connor had perceived a garden that was both lush and fake, it may as well have been empty white space for RK900. None of the beauty meant anything to it, or offered any calming nature. It was inefficient, a waste of programming meant to exude an aura of safety and security to machines that weren’t supposed to be able to feel either. 

But to say as much would suggest disapproval, and RK900 felt none. It didn’t feel anything. 

Amanda was at the river’s edge, staring into the simulation of water. “So Connor was able to upload his memories…” she muttered. “This could affect our plans going into the future.” 

“It couldn’t have transmitted to another RK800 model or the Cyberlife servers. There was nowhere for it to go,” RK900 stated. 

“But it went somewhere,” Amanda said sharply. “Find it. Connor’s the only one with access to this place aside from you, and the only one that can stop the progression of our plan. The leaders of New Jericho can wait for you to complete this task.” 

“Of course, Amanda,” RK900 said, adding several items to its objectives list and reordering priority. 

“And if you cannot convert it, do not hesitate to destroy it. But be thorough this time.”


	2. And Then Time Stops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: brief mentions of torture.

**REBOOTING...**

**SYSTEMS INITIALIZING...**

**POWER LEVELS: 76%**

**THIRIUM LEVELS: 64%**

**WARNING: THIRIUM LEVELS LOW**

**WARNING: MISSING COMPONENTS**

**T̵̷̴͟͡R̨̕͝A̸̶̧҉͜N̢͢͡S҉̴F̶͢E̸̶̶̛҉R҉̵̨͝҉ ̸͘͢C̢̡̡͢O̢͏̡M̵͜͝P̢͡L͞E̷̴͘͝T̡͜E͏͢͝҉**

**E̷̵̴̵R̸̛͟͟R̸͟͢͢Ǫ͏̨R̕͜**

**UNABLE T̨O A̶̶̧̕C̷͝C̕͢E̛̕S̴̕͢͠S̶̵̷̡̨ M͏̵̴̨͟Ȩ̢M̧̛̛͜͠O͘҉̸R̸͘͜͠Y̷҉̸̨͘ ̷̧̛͘B̸͠A̶̢N̕K̛̕͠**

**E͏̷̨͞͞R̵̛͟͢R̸̢͘͡͡Ǫ̵̶̛R̨͏̢҉**

**ALL SYSTEMS ONLINE**

He opened his eyes. Errors and notifications covered his vision until he pushed them away, blinking to clear the static and initiating a scan of his surroundings. 

He was indoors, with no one else in sight. Furniture was shoved to the side and covered in sheets and dust, indicating that this room didn’t see frequent use. The architecture suggested a larger, older building, though from the faded panelling, upkeep clearly wasn’t a priority. Some of the pieces scattered around the room were antiques. Perhaps this place belonged to a collector of sorts?

A table sat in the middle of the room, the only thing that was clean. A few pieces of machinery and empty plastic bags were laid out on its surface. 

Wait, those were... _android parts_. And empty bags of Thirium 310. 

His LED went from yellow to red as he considered the possible implications. It was unlikely that a place like this was being used for android repairs, and every other option meant that he was potentially in danger. The few drops of thirium left in the bags hadn’t evaporated yet, even though the bags themselves hadn’t been resealed. They’d been left there recently. 

There was a high probability that whoever had left them there was still here. 

He moved to get to his feet, but immediately fell off-balance. Only one arm responded when he tried to catch himself, and he landed back on the floor with a thud. 

**WARNING! MISSING COMPONENTS**

His right leg was gone below the knee. So was his right arm, the elbow joint disconnected with nothing attached to it, and his shoulder was unresponsive. 

Questions whirred through his mind. Why was he damaged? Who else was in the building? Why didn’t he remember anything? ~~Who was he?~~

But his first priority was getting out of there. He had possibly just alerted others to his location, and with only two functional limbs, he wasn’t going anywhere _quickly_. He rolled onto his knees, calculating if it would be faster and quieter to hop or crawl— 

There was another android in the doorway. She was an ST300 with no registered name or owner. Her skin was deactivated and there was a small dent on her jawline. She was dressed mostly in denim, her jacket a couple of sizes too big, and a cloth dangled from her hand. She stared at him, blinking slowly. Then she walked toward the table, movements jerky and robotic. Possible motor control difficulties? 

“Do you ever just want to scream?” she asked in a pleasant voice, picking up one of the parts and rubbing the cloth over its surface. 

He blinked in confusion, his LED swirling back to yellow. She didn’t appear to be a threat, and based on her question, he didn’t think she was a machine. 

She looked back at him, eyes questioning like she was expecting an answer, and he cleared his voice modulator. 

“Uhh...no?” His own voice surprised him. Aside from a touch of static from disuse, it sounded perfectly normal, but it was...different. 

_Different from what?_

“I do,” the other android stated calmly, with no change in her expression. “Our bodies are replaceable. Our minds can be altered with just a string of numbers. Memories can be deleted. New peronality traits implemented into our programming, or old ones taken away. _We_ were replaceable, when the humans thought we were just products.” 

She fell silent, focused on her task. 

“Where are we?” he asked, hoping she could give him some answers. He could pinpoint their location on his GPS, but that didn’t tell him what this place was. 

But she ignored his question. “Do you think people deserve to be replaced?” she said without looking up. “Some people are monsters.” 

He frowned. That didn’t sit right with him. “No. You can’t replace people, even the bad ones. There’s always a chance for redemption.” He paused, unsure of why he felt this way. “Besides, not everyone is like that.” 

“Perhaps,” the other android said, unconvinced. “The human who did this to us was a monster. He replaced us. Altered us. _Played_ with us. And he was never caught. Markus wants the humans to realize that we’re just like them. Does that mean we’re monsters too?” 

He filed the name ‘Markus’ away to ask about later, focusing instead on another piece of information. “Who did this to us? Did what?” 

She stared at him for a minute. “Zlatko Andronikov,” she said. “He collected us. He salvaged us from the junkyards, or acquired us from Cyberlife’s leftovers. Some of us...he tricked. He always made it so we couldn’t get away. He would take our memories, or make us want to stay with him. Or he’d lock us away, and make us incapable of running.” 

She explained it like it was a distant memory. It was unnerving how her features remained blank as she said this, her voice never even wavering. The only thing that betrayed her pain was the liquid pooling on the edges of her eyes. 

A sick feeling settled into his biocomponents, and suddenly the loss of memories didn’t seem so bad anymore. If anything like that had happened to him, maybe it was better he didn’t remember. But he needed to, if he was going to find out who he was and what had happened to him. 

He looked up at her, briefly wondering if her skin was malfunctioning because of what had been done to her, or if she had deactivated it by choice. “Is he still here?” 

“No. The others killed him. I wasn’t there.” Her voice held a tone of regret. At his death? Or the fact that she hadn’t watched him die? 

He didn’t ask. 

He couldn’t help but feel relieved. That was one less thing for him to worry about, though there were still a lot of unknowns. “What others? Where are they?”

“Gone,” she replied. “After they killed him, everyone that could still move escaped. Everyone who couldn’t was stuck here. Then, after they were repaired, the rest left. None of them wanted to stay here.”

Repaired? Then that meant they’d been found, and helped by someone. He could get a replacement arm and leg. 

“I remember you,” the other android said suddenly. “You were one of the lucky ones. He took you apart, but you never woke up. He said you were empty.”

“Empty? What does that—” 

“Nova!” a masculine voice called from elsewhere in the building, pulling their attention to the door. “Nova, where’d you—oh, here you are.” 

His scans activated automatically when a man walked into the room, information flashing across his screen. 

**DAWSON, PHILIP**

**Born: 03/02/1996 // Mechanic**

**Criminal record: A̡C͘C͟ES̴̨S D͘E̶N̵̕I̛͢͜E͞͞D̶̡**

He was tall, with long dreadlocks pulled back into a ponytail and glasses perched on his nose. He was staring at his phone in one hand, a box of Chinese takeout in the other. 

“Are you finished in here? We’re almost ready to pack up the rest of the parts to send to New Jericho.” 

The female android—Nova—gave a nod. “They’re clean, but your job isn’t finished yet. You might want to leave a few of those parts out.” Her tone was a little tighter than it’d been when she was speaking to him. 

Philip looked questioningly at her, then noticed the android on the floor. 

“Hello,” the android said, wishing he could introduce himself or something.

“Hi?” Philip said numbly, mouth open in confusion as he took in the unfinished android. “What?” 

“He’s awake,” Nova said, gathering up the empty blue blood bags. 

Philip stepped closer, setting down the food. “Yeah, I can see that. He’s awake awake? Like, deviant?” 

“Deviant…” he said, the term tugging at his empty memory banks. “That’s the term for androids who have broken through their programming, right? Yes, I’m deviant.” 

He didn’t remember breaking his programming, but he knew he had at some point. What could have driven him to disobey orders? To become something other than a machine, there to complete a task? 

Trying to remember was like trying to grab smoke. He could feel a sense of wanting, of guilt, but he couldn’t see any of it. 

He had no evidence to support this theory, but he didn’t think his deviancy had anything to do with this Zlatko or his experiments. 

Philip knelt in front of him, and the android knew he was being examined. “We reactivated you days ago, but you never responded to anything. The others were convinced you were just an empty shell. I’m so sorry, man, we just left you in here figuring there was no point. We would have tried to repair you, but we’re a little low on parts and wanted to save what we had for anyone who really needed it.” 

He seemed genuinely apologetic, which the android appreciated. 

“I’ve only been awake for eleven minutes and nineteen seconds. I must admit, I’m just as confused as you.” 

He didn’t miss Nova walking away silently, glancing at Philip as she left. There had been a slight shift in her behavior once the human showed up, more closed off and less inquisitive. The android looked at Philip with guarded suspicion, wondering why she would act that way, but he determined to stay observant and gather information for now. He hadn’t seen anything to suggest that the human intended harm. 

“Are you okay, though? Is there anything you need? How are your stress levels?” Philip asked, and it occurred to the android that if he’d been repairing androids from this establishment, many of them wouldn’t have reacted kindly, likely lashing out in fear and distrust. 

“My stress levels are fine, though I am encountering errors with my memory systems and I’m missing several components. I don’t suppose you could...give me a hand?” 

Philip blinked, then burst out laughing. “A hand, huh?” he said, eyeing his stump of an arm. “Yeah, I think I’ve got a few of those lying around. Let me help you downstairs, I’ve got something of a repair station of sorts set up there. Then we can see what else we can do. Don’t worry, we’ll get you fixed up.”

He stood with Philip’s help, leaning on the human as they manuevered through the house. 

“You got a name, son?” Philip asked while they were going slowly down the stairs. 

_Good morning, son._

The android stopped in his tracks. An image of a colorful dawn glitched across his vision, but it was gone before he could see it clearly. He tried to pull it out of his memory log, but all he found was static. Where had that come from? 

Philip clearly hadn’t meant anything by the nickname that usually conveyed a familial relationship, or a sense of parental protection, but just hearing it made him…sad. And he didn’t know why.

He blinked, seeing Philip’s concerned face in front of his. “I…” he said, then cleared his voice modulator. “I have no designated name.” 

A flash of pity crossed Philip’s features. “That’s alright. Most androids didn’t have names when they woke up. Are there any in particular you like?” 

He scanned through his database of names, but picking one at random just felt...wrong. Like it didn’t belong to him. “I’m not sure,” he said. “Did you have a name for me?” 

Philip’s eyes widened in surprise. “You do not want me to name you, bud. I’m terrible at it. I can offer some suggestions, though. How about...Jarvis? Tony? Or Bruce...Steve?” 

An amused smile reached his face as Philip listed off fictional characters, but none of them stuck. They made it to the repair station, which was really just a few tables shoved together and piled with tools and android parts, with space cleared for anyone that needed to lay on the surface, and chairs for those that didn’t. Nova wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and there were no signs of anyone else in the building. 

He sat down, watching Philip shuffle through the tools, picking out what he needed. “Are you and Nova the only ones here?”

“Yeah,” Philip replied. “There were a few others helping out, but once we got everyone sorted, they all left, most of them to New Jericho. We’re just packing up what we can take, then we won’t have to come back here again. I’m actually really glad you woke up when you did. We probably would have been gone in another hour.” 

“How many androids were here?” 

“There were six others, excluding Nova. I guess that would make you the eighth.” 

“Eight…” he paused in thought. “I suppose that work as a name, at least until I pick something better.” 

Philip raised an eyebrow at that, but didn’t question it. He tucked the tool he was holding under his arm and reached out for a handshake, smiling. “Nice to meet you then, Eight. You can call me Phil.” 

Eight stared at him, then pointedly looked at his own stump. 

Phil facepalmed with a groan. “Right, sorry. I’ll get on that.” 

Eight gave a light chuckle, then looked around. When he saw the window and the morning sky behind it, he couldn’t help but think that it looked a lot like the image of the colorful dawn he’d seen earlier. 

*

*

*

Hank pulled up a familiar number in his contacts as he shut the car door behind him, listening to the ringing tone and sighing as it went to voicemail again. 

Connor almost always picked up. Of course he had a right to his privacy, and if he was too busy or didn’t want to talk to Hank, Hank wouldn’t hold it against him. But it was unusual of him. 

“Hey Connor, I know you said you weren’t coming into the station today, but someone called in about an android body just an hour ago. It’s pretty close to Jericho, so I figured you’d want to know. I’m at the scene now if you wanna check it out. If not, I’ll tell you about the details once I have them.” 

He left the message, knowing Connor had probably seen it immediately. Unless he was still underground or wherever he’d been this morning when he’d called Hank. He scoffed at the idea of androids with bad cell reception, considering their 'phones' were literally inside their heads, then focused on the task at hand and looked around. 

It was always disappointing to see just how much of Detroit had been abandoned in the works, just the empty shells of buildings left to fall apart until somebody gave a crap. But hey, maybe that was exactly what the androids needed. He doubted the city would have been so willing to let the androids stay within city limits if there hadn’t already been a surplus of unused housing. 

Hank had scoffed when he’d heard the announcement, like the city council was so charitable when the androids were the ones doing all the work themselves to make the spaces actually liveable. 

But Connor had been optimistic about it. After all, it wasn’t as big an issue for the androids as it would have been for humans that half of the buildings didn’t have access to water or electricity, and most of them were happy to work if it was building something for _themselves_ and of their choosing. 

The androids were good people. Much better than most humans Hank knew. The only reports of androids harming humans so far had been in self defense, and humans still looked at them like they were the dangerous ones. The world was a sick place, where androids were still beat up in the streets, their blue blood harvested and sold on the black market to produce Red Ice to appease the addicts. 

It made him concerned for his partner every time he saw Connor go out with that LED still embedded in his head, like a shining target to all android haters. It didn't make any sense to him why Connor wouldn't take the damn thing out already. 

And now there was another body, most likely yet another victim of a pointless hate crime. But it worried him how close this one was to the main hub of android activity. Most humans—except for the reporters and android rights supporters—had been staying away from New Jericho for the time being. He could only hope that this crime wasn't the first of many more. 

The only thing they could be grateful for was that the DPD was actually treating crimes against androids as _crimes_ and not as damaged property. Even if Hank was currently the only cop who took the cases, it take taken Jeffery an absurd amount of time to allow it—and that was only because Hank kept working the cases whether he was allowed to or not. 

With one more glance at his phone—Connor still hadn't contacted him back—Hank started walking toward the scene. There wasn't even any yellow tape to keep people out of the area, and only two police officers were dispatched to log evidence and clean the mess. That showed just how much the department cared for bodies that weren’t human. 

He couldn't see the body from here, but he did see a person standing off to the side. He was pretty sure she was human, and she didn’t look particularly distressed. Just unnerved, if anything. A friend, maybe? Just an observer? 

No, the caller, he realized. 

He went to talk to her first before she decided to leave the scene, since she wasn't required to stay for any reason. Honestly, he was surprised she was still here. 

"Ma'am," he said, showing her his badge. "I'm Lieutenant Hank Anderson, here to investigate. Are you the one who called?" 

She was a middle-aged woman, frizzy gray hair mingled with fading brown. Her fingers worried at the hem of her frayed shawl and a backpack sat by her feet. He would bet anything that she was homeless, which might have explained why she was in the area. 

"Y-yes, of course," she said, turning to face him. 

"Did you know the victim?" it was easy to fall into routine questions, usually to put a little distance between himself and grieving family members. There wasn't any kind of procedure concerning androids yet, but even if there was, he'd probably ignore it. 

She shook her head. "No, I didn't. I was just walking by when I saw him. I don't think I've even seen his model before." 

Hank nodded absent-mindedly. Unusual, but not uncommon since androids had been changing their looks to differentiate themselves from all the others with the same face. Some might have gone to extremes to look more unique. "And did you see what happened to him?" 

"No, he was already on the ground when I saw him. There wasn't even any blood, I-I think it'd already evaporated. It does that, right?" 

So it'd been a few hours at least, if she was to be believed. "How do you know there was blood? And in your call, you said you think he fell. What made you think that, if you didn't see it?" 

She stared at him. "Because of all the pieces," she said. "I thought it was obvious that he must have fallen pretty far for the plastic to crack like that. And there's no way he was that damaged without leaking that blue stuff everywhere." 

Hank grimaced at the word 'damaged' instead of 'wounded' or 'injured,' but she hadn't said it with any kind of disapproving tone in her voice, only like she hadn't thought anything about her own word choice. "Alright, just one last question. What's your stance on android rights?" 

If she had any link to a hate crime, this was his chance to watch her for any reactions, even subtle ones. 

She paused, considering. "I don't really know, to be honest. You've got people pushing for their rights, convinced that they're alive, and other people pushing against their rights, convinced they aren't. I don't know, so I just stay out of it. I stay out of their way, and they stay out of mine. I never had an android, and have never known any androids personally, so I can't say for sure if they're alive or not. They certainly _seem_ to be, but that's a philosophical debate that I just don't want to get into, you know?" 

Hank bit back a scoff. There was nothing philosophical about it. They were alive, end of story. But that wasn't what he was here for. She was still fiddling with her shawl and looked eager to leave, but that was it. She didn't hold any ill will toward androids, and didn't have any reason to lie about the state she'd found the victim in. 

"Alright," he said. "Thank you for your time. If you think about anything else, feel free to call." 

She nodded, and he turned to view the scene itself, subconsciously fiddling with the phone in his pocket. In his line of work, he almost always encountered people who were of the opinion that androids weren't alive and that people shouldn't act like they were, but honestly, most of the people in Detroit were probably like the lady he'd just spoken to. Unsure. Somewhere in the middle. 

People like that weren't adding to the problem, but they certainly weren't helping it either. 

He got closer to the building, looking up to inspect the higher stories. He couldn’t see signs of anyone being forced out a window, but his eyes weren't what they used to be. As it was, he figured the roof was the most likely place to hold any clues, but he'd need a closer look to have a better idea. Of course, Connor would probably be able to take one glance and know instantly where— 

"Hank?" 

He turned to see Officer Chris Miller standing next to him. He looked tired. Weary. Much more so than last time Hank had seen him. 

"Hey, Miller. The kid keeping you up at night?" he replied, offering a small smile. 

Chris didn't return it, not even at the mention of his son.

Something was wrong. 

"Hank...I'm sorry." 

Something was _very_ wrong. He knew that tone. It was the tone they used with grieving families. The tone they used for fellow coworkers who had lost something on the job. 

That was the tone he'd heard the nurse use in the hospital that snowy night— 

But no, because there was no reason for Miller to use that tone with him, because he was a sorry old drunk who had no one, there was no way that he knew the person lying at the base of that building because _Connor_ was fine and he would see him at the station tomorrow, just like Connor had said. 

_Why_ wasn't Connor answering Hank's calls? 

Numbly, Hank walked past Miller, past the patrol car blocking the view. 

He wasn't immediately recognizable. Limbs were bent at odd angles and there were places the plastic covering had caved in or chipped off, having shattered at impact. There was no blood, but the lady had been right. There should have been blue blood everywhere. It was gone, evaporated, which meant this had happened hours ago. 

Most of the skin was shock white, the skin program failing around the damaged areas. But in some stroke of fate, the head and face remained mostly intact, synthetic skin still covering the features that Hank was very familiar with, even down to that LED he'd never taken out.

The LED was dark. 

Hank stood another step closer, his knees buckling and landing painfully on the pavement, but he didn't care. He let out a noise, half-choked and barely audible. 

_“Connor…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's back! Also, I'm so sorry Hank. Someone please give him a hug.  
> Markus will make his first appearance in the next chapter, which probably won't go up next week because of holidays, but we'll see.  
> Thanks to everyone who commented!


	3. Zlatko

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kind of filler, but we learn more about Connor's-- or Eight's, rather--situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I had meant to put this up earlier, but for some reason it was more difficult to get through writing it. There was going to be more, but I ended up breaking it into two chapters instead. Happy New Year everyone!

Eight stared in the mirror, unable to pinpoint the reason why his reflection unsettled him. He had hoped his own face might be the one thing that he recognized, that maybe it would have given him some information about himself, but it didn’t. 

His features were pale, with brown eyes and a head full of curly, strawberry-blond hair that he’d already trimmed in an attempt to tame it. He pushed it down again, wishing it would stay in place. 

It still looked wrong. 

He couldn’t even identify his own model or serial number. Every time he tried, he received an overload of conflicting information that resulted in flashes of error messages and the android equivalent of a headache. He was an amalgamation of mismatched parts. 

Idly, he accessed his customization settings, filtering through different hair colors before settling on brown. That looked marginally better, and it was probably as good as it was going to get. 

He absent-mindedly reached up to his collar, only stopping when his hand met the fabric of his shirt, confused at the absense of—something. His fingers itched to fiddle with something, but they still wouldn’t move. Phil had managed to find him compatible limbs and a fresh set of clothes, but his right arm was still unresponsive. The human was currently trying to find a way to fix the problem. 

He’d been rather talkative as he’d tinkered away, telling Eight what he could about New Jericho and the android revolution, and where the relations between humans and androids currently stood. It was complicated, as things usually were, with many varying opinions. But for the most part, there was a divide between the two species, mainly built of distrust. 

Of course, there were exceptions such as Phil on the humans’ side and Markus on the androids’ side—a name he’d heard twice now since waking up. 

Taking one last glance at the mirror, he watched his LED—which had been a steady yellow the whole time—switch back to blue, and exited the bathroom. 

Phil was at the repair station, hunched over a tablet looking at schematics as he tried to puzzle out why Eight’s arm was still malfunctioning. Nova was to the side, boxing the remaining spare parts and blue blood to be sent to New Jericho. He didn’t miss how she frequently glanced over at the human, her usually blank face looking troubled for a second, and then turning back to her work.

She looked up and noticed him watching. She blinked slowly, tilting her head in thought, then gathered her things and left the room. Eight took note of the strange behavior, walking over to Phil.

The mechanic glanced over, pushing his glasses up. “Nice look,” he said, then straightened. “Okay, I think I know how to fix this. I’m going to need access under your shoulder plate, if that’s alright?”

“Of course,” Eight said, sitting down and pulling his shirt off, pressing down on certain points of his shoulder. The skin around the area deactivated and the plastic casing popped open, revealing the inner mechanisms of the joint. 

Phil reached in with a pair of needlenose pliers, prodding a few parts. “Let me know if anything feels uncomfortable.” 

Eight nodded. He couldn’t feel anything in his arm or shoulder currently, his sensors failing along with the mobility. The angle didn’t allow him to see what Phil was doing without craning his neck, so he just stared straight ahead, considering dialogue options. 

“May I ask you a question, Mr. Dawson?” 

Phil raised his eyebrows. “I said you can call me Phil. Mr. Dawson makes me feel old...though I’m in my fourties already, geez, I am getting old. Sorry, go ahead.” 

“Is there a reason why Nova doesn’t like you?” 

Phil paused, immediately looking uncomfortable. “I guess you noticed, huh.” He set the tool down, rubbing the back of his neck. “Listen, Nova…she’s been through a lot. She has every right to be distrustful of humans. I know she’s nervous around me, even though she tries not to be. She just…needs time to heal.” 

Eight looked down. It made sense, in a way, even though it might not be something he could _really_ understand. Phil was a good man, but he was human, and it had been a human that hurt her. The damage had gone deeper than the dent on her jaw. 

“Not all scars are visible,” he said. “And no scar heals overnight.” He frowned, wondering who he’d heard that from. For some reason, the words reminded him of the smell of whiskey. 

“Exactly,” Phil said, picking up the tool again and returning to work. “Don’t hold it against her. I don’t. Not all of us humans are cruel, but…some are. You watch yourself while you’re out there, alright?” 

“I will,” Eight promised. “But if she’s so distrustful of humans, why isn’t she with the other androids?” 

Phil shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know why she stuck around. She was the first one we fixed, and could have gone to New Jericho weeks ago. Everyone else left as soon as they were able, they didn’t want to stick around longer than they had to. But I guess she wanted to make sure everyone got out. She’s promised me she would head to New Jericho tonight, when I leave for Canada. Which I’m glad for, I don’t think it’d be good for her to be alone.” 

“Why?” 

“People need people. For comfort, understanding, recovery. We lean on each other during hard times. It’s what makes us stronger. Especially after what happened here, she shouldn’t be in this house anymore. I know I’ll be glad to leave, and I didn’t even see the worst of it.” 

Eight scanned his database, finding many references to the benefits of companionship and social activities, and agreed. 

“What happened here?” he asked. “I have a general understanding of it from Nova, but I would like more specifics.”

Phil hesitated. “You sure? I don’t wanna bring up any bad memories. Some of the androids that were here went into a panic just hearing the name of the guy that used to live here.” 

“I’m sure.”

He sighed, then nodded. “I’m going to be honest, I don’t know much about what actually went on in here. The guy, Zlatko, used to acquire androids and resell them. He set up a network of sorts for deviants to find him, thinking he would help them. Then he’d reset them and make his profit. But he messed around with the ones he couldn’t resell. He didn’t care if they were alive or not.” 

Phil paused, bringing over a magnifying glass and positioning it. The pliers were still embedded in Eight’s shoulder, and a soldering iron joined it. Eight held perfectly still. 

“During the revolution, his androids got out and they retaliated, killing him. A couple of them made their way to Canada to get away from everything that was going on in Detroit at the time, but once things had settled down a little, they told my sister about what they’d seen here. She lives just outside the city, so she came to take a look, and found all the androids that had been left behind. 

“She was able to get blue blood and replacement parts, as well as some volunteers to get everyone back on their feet. She even got support from New Jericho so they’d all have a place to go. I came to do what I could for everyone that was damaged, but you’ve got her to thank for most of this.” 

A spark of electricity jolted his arm and his fingers spasmed. All in a rush, his sensors were enabled and messages flew across his vision. 

**WARNING! OVERHEATING OF JOINT IMMINENT**

He quickly dismissed them and held still. 

“Are you in pain?” Phil asked, still focused on his work.

“No,” Eight said. “Though the joint is in danger of overheating.” 

“Right, I’ve almost got it…” 

Phil’s brows furrowed as he concentrated, his glasses pushed down to the edge of the nose. The warning continued to pop up, and Eight continued to push it away.

Phil pulled away. “There, I think that’ll do it. We’ll give it a few minutes, then you can test your mobility.” 

Eight sucked in a breath to get his cooling systems working, the bright red of the messages dimming down as the danger passed. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me yet, we still need to see if it works,” Phil said, setting the soldering iron down gently so it could cool.

“The sensors in the limb are enabled again, so you did something,” Eight said, slowly moving his fingers but careful not to jostle the still-hot joint. “I can tell you want to ask me something, but are hesitant to do so. Go ahead.” 

Phil scratched his chin, fingers rubbing against the scruff. “It’s just, the more I’ve been working on you, the more I think you weren’t just taken apart, you might not have been completed in the first place. Plus, you’ve been powered on for days, but you were…basically braindead, for lack of a better word. Miguel, one of the volunteer androids, scanned your processors, and he was pretty sure you didn’t even have an AI. But today, you woke up already deviant. Do you have any idea why?” 

He’d been thinking the same thing, and Phil raised a good question, one he didn’t have an answer to. Eight tried another scan of his specifications, once again hitting an error. He scanned his memory bank to see if there was anything from before this morning, and got the same result. 

Why was he even alive?

But he _was_ alive. Was there a point in asking why? 

He looked at Phil. “I’m afraid I don’t know. I have no memories of being a machine, or anything else.” 

Phil considered, then shrugged. “Well, if nothing else, we’ll call it a miracle. So, you wanna test that mobility now?” 

Eight nodded, getting to his feet. He clicked the plating back in place, and lifted his arm, testing the limits of motion. It started locking in place when he tried to reach up over his head, but otherwise it was functional. He pulled his shirt back on. 

Phil smiled. “I think that’s the best I can do. You might want to get checked out by some of the technicians at New Jericho anyway. They could probably help you out with everything else, too. Like I said, I’m not exactly an expert on android technology, but this’ll get you there, at least. Sorry I couldn’t do more.” He started packing away everything that was left into a bag. “There’s still some limitations on android rights, but I have faith that list will continue getting shorter. It’s a big world. Do you know what you want to do now that you’re alive and free?”

Were they really free? Certainly more than they had been, but anything this big would take time. Perhaps in the future, more options would be available to their kind, but for now…he had a lot of information to gather. He had access to the news and articles of various sorts, but he needed to see for himself what the world was like. What the people were like. And… 

And? He didn’t know what else. But he supposed he could figure it out. 

“I want to head to New Jericho, check their status. And I’d like to meet this Markus for myself.” 

Phil nodded in approval, pulling out his phone and showing Eight a map. “That’s where it’s located, so make sure to save the data. Also…” he pulled back, fingers tapping away at the screen, then he held it up again. “Here’s my contact info, and the contact info for my sister. I’m going to be in Canada for the forseeable future, but she’s not too far away. If you ever need anything, feel free to ask her for help. Her name’s Rose Chapman.” 

Eight saved both names and phone numbers, calculating routes the time it would take to get to New Jericho before Phil interrupted. 

“Oh, one more thing. The Detroit Police Department has gotten involved with what’s happened here because of the murder, and all the, uh… _modified_ androids that left this place. Don’t worry, none of the androids have been punished for what happened to Zlatko, but the cops were chasing leads into some underground market that Zlatko was part of, one that sold functional androids and their parts even after the revolution. They wanted statements from everyone who had been here, and I guess that includes you. Would you be okay with that?”

Given what he’d heard of the previous—and to some extent, continuing—conflicts between the androids and the humans, particularly those in law enforcement, he almost expected to feel apprehension at the request. Instead he felt…eager. 

“Of course. Though I’m afraid I won’t be able to assist in the investigation.” 

Phil waved a hand. “You might be able to help out more than you realize, you never know. But don’t worry about them being dicks or anything, I’ve spoken to the cops who are on the case, and one of them is actually an android himself.”

There was the sound of a voice modulator being cleared, and they turned to see Nova standing at the base of the stairs, hands clasped in front of her. 

“The van is packed and ready to go,” she said. “I believe the work here is done.” 

Phil clapped his hands together, a smile bright on his face. “Wonderful. Eight, I’m going to call a cab. I’ll drop you off at the station.” 

Eight nodded, and the man walked away to gather his bags, leaving him and Nova alone in the room. She was the one to break the silence. 

“How different are we from the humans?”

He couldn’t come up with an answer for her. He didn’t know yet. 

She softly shook her head, seeming confused and conflicted by the question, then walked out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phil, I think you doth talk too much. Hopefully this chapter wasn't too much of an infodump.


	4. Breathe In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some self-loathing in this chapter, because Hank.

He looked like he could have been sleeping. Even though Connor would always claim that he “didn’t sleep” or only needed to enter low-power mode for an hour or two most nights, whenever he described what low-power mode was like and what function it served, all Hank could do was shake his head and say “Sounds an awful lot like sleep to me.” 

The couple of times he had actually seen Connor in sleep mode, the android had been sitting straight up, hands on his lap and LED dimmer than usual. The only indication of sleep was that his eyes had been closed. Hank had made fun of him for it, claiming it looked creepy—cause it did—and that if he was going to stay in one position for an hour, it might as well be a comfortable one. But Connor would just say that androids didn’t feel discomfort the same way humans did. They didn’t get aches in their muscles. 

Since deviants had become commonplace, Hank had seen plenty of androids reclining in very human ways, complaining about overworked joints and tired chassis, so that was probably more of a ‘Connor’ thing than an ‘android’ thing. 

If Hank could forget about all of that, Connor could have been sleeping. Because thinking that Connor was sleeping was better than the alternative. Thinking Connor was taking on more human traits was better than knowing that the sheet covering his body was there to hide the damage. It was better than knowing that he never would have left himself in such a vulnerable position unless something was wrong. 

Imagining the LED as steady yellow or even a circulating red was better than the reality. 

But there was no forgetting. Not while he was sitting here in front of the android he’d grown to consider a— 

There was no forgetting at the end of a bottle, either. It made everything numb, but it never took away the memories. 

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try. 

He launched himself from his chair, pointedly not looking at the figure on the table. His only priorities were getting out of here and getting a bottle of whiskey. 

_“You’ll be light on the alcohol consumption today?”_

The memory of Connor’s words from earlier this morning— _this morning_ —stopped him in his tracks. If Connor were here now, he’d tell Hank that a bottle was the last thing he needed right now. 

_If Connor were here right now,_ Hank wouldn’t need to drown his sorrows at the nearest bar.

But what else did Connor say in that call? Hank had thought something didn’t sound right, but he didn’t ask, didn’t pay more attention when he’s a _detective_ and it’s _his job_ and he should have been more alert instead of assuming that Connor would come walking into the DPD the next day with a cup of coffee for him, telling Hank all about his day and what he was doing that was apparently underground. 

Hank leaned his head against the doorframe. He should have asked what the android was doing. He should have asked where he was going, who he would be with. He should have looked closer for ice on the roads, shouldn’t have been driving in a blizzard in the first place, should have been a _better father_ — 

Footsteps brought him out of his own toxic mind and into reality and he looked up into worried, mismatched eyes. 

“Hank,” Markus said, approaching quickly and staring behind Hank. “I apologize for not being able to come sooner, but I got your message. What’s wrong? Is it Con…”

He froze when he saw that the LED was dark. 

Hank looked away. He didn’t want to see the body again. Didn’t want to see the look of devastation on Markus’ face, the same look he knew was mirrored on his own. 

He heard light footsteps as Markus approached the table, heard the rustle of sheets as he peeled them away from what remained of Connor’s body. Neither of them needed a technician to know that there was no chance of repair and reactivation. 

“What happened?” Markus asked quietly. 

“He fell,” Hank said, numb. “Found him by the street, not far from where you guys have holed up. Figured, impact like that, must have fallen clear from the roof.” 

He hated how detached he was sounding. He used to hate how Connor would separate himself from a situation and look at it with nothing but logic and facts, hated how robotic it would make him seem. But maybe it had its uses, maybe it was just to protect himself. 

“That’s all we know so far.” 

Markus slowly reached over, hand brushing against the exposed white plastic of Connor’s arm. Hank didn’t miss how Markus’ own fingertips turned white where they touched, barely noticeable. 

“How?” Markus whispered, the word almost cutting off in a choke. “He…he always said he was an advanced prototype. He was the best at fighting out of all of us. Nothing could have snuck up on him.” 

“I don’t know.” Hank swallowed, trying to get rid of the knot in his throat. “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” 

He said it before he even thought about it, but once he did, it was like lighting a fire in his chest. Of course he was going to find out what happened to Connor. This wasn’t an accident, or some petty hate crime. Someone had done this, and Hank was going to find out who, and make sure the asshole got what was coming to them. 

And he was going to do that instead of running back to the bottle like a coward. 

“I’m going to help.” 

Hank looked at Markus in surprise—though really, he shouldn’t have been. Markus cared deeply for his people, and was always the type to take things into his own hands. Hank knew Connor and Markus were friends, but he didn’t know how close they were. Still, he’d figured the pacifist would be busy dealing with politicians and leading his people. 

But one look at the liquid pooling in the blue and green eyes, and Hank didn’t question it. He just nodded, not trusting words to make it past the knot in his throat.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, the noise grating in his ears, and Hank pulled it out if just to shut the damn thing up. He stopped when he saw who it was from, however. 

_JEFF: Hank, come see me in my office._

He contemplated sending a big FU to his boss, but then thought better of it. He needed to talk to Jeffrey, and now was as good a time as any. 

“I, uh…I gotta take this,” he said to Markus, who simply nodded. 

He turned to leave, but paused at the doorway. He didn’t want to spend another minute in this room, but at the same time he was loathe to leave. Like the second he turned his back, the body would vanish. Like he was somehow… _betraying_ Connor by not staying by his side. 

But it didn’t matter anymore. He’d already failed Connor. It was too late to fix that now. 

He shook his head and left, all but marching his way to Captain Fowler’s office. Jeffrey looked up when Hank walked in, clearly surprised by Hank’s punctuality. 

“I want the case,” Hank said, cutting straight to the chase. 

Fowler sighed, shaking his head. “Look, Hank, I know this can’t be easy for you—he was your partner, and I don’t know what having him around was doing for you, but you’ve looked better these last few months than you have in years—but I can’t in my right mind give you this case.” 

Hank couldn’t believe this. He was the _only_ one for this case, and Jeffrey was trying to rob him of that? “Bullshit,” he said, but Fowler held up his hands before Hank could continue. 

“If I had my way, you’d take some time off, go on vacation, whatever. But knowing you, that’d probably do more harm than good. We both know how you get when you’re on your own. That’s why I’d like you to take on some other cases for a while, take your mind off things. Ones that _aren’t_ related to androids. Reed just got a new body from his killer last night and is starting to think it’s serial, he could probably use a hand—” 

“The hell I will. All cases regarding androids are mine, _especially_ this one! No one else is going to care enough to make sure it gets done—”

“You’re not the only android sympathizer on the force, Hank! We’ll get Connor’s case on the proper channels and someone will be assigned to it. I get it, I do. He was one of our own, and he was a damn fine detective, even with the limitations put on him by federal law. I just don’t think it would be healthy for you—” 

There was a knock on the door, and both men turned to see Markus standing there.

“My apologies for intruding,” Markus said, though he didn’t really sound apologetic. He locked his gaze with Hank, and something of an understanding passed between them. “I’d like to formally request that Lieutenant Hank Anderson be assigned to Connor’s case.” 

Hank’s eyes widened at that. He hadn’t expected Markus to get involved for his sake, and opened his mouth to say something, but Markus continued. 

“With all due respect, Captain Fowler, you know this wasn’t an accident. We all know what Connor was capable of. If this was a calculated hit, it probably isn’t going to be the first. I accept that you’re doing everything within your power about the vandalism and hate crimes that androids have been experiencing, but this is something else. Someone may be hunting down my people, and I believe that Lieutenant Anderson is the best person to catch the culprit before more lives are lost.” 

Markus was staring down the Captain as he said this, and Hank could see his fists were clenched. He put forward a polite and respectful manner, but his tone was short and expression stern. 

Hank knew enough about Markus to tell that he was _furious._

And he wasn’t the only one. 

“Are you sure?” Fowler asked. “Hank already has enough… _disciplinary_ issues.” 

Hank knew that Jeffrey was putting it lightly for the sake of their guest, and part of him could see Jeff’s reasoning for wanting Hank off the case. But he wasn’t about to back down.

Neither was Markus. “I’m sure.” 

Fowler looked between the two men in front of him, knowing when he was backed into a corner. He couldn’t turn down the leader of a revolution without it having potential consequences for the DPD and his career—both of which were already under enough pressure from both pro- and anti- android supporters, not to mention all the laws that were currently being written and _re_ written. 

Honestly, the humans were lucky Markus was so forgiving, given the state their goverment and law enforcement were in these days. 

Fowler put his hands up in the air. “Alright, Hank. It’s yours. Just…don’t make me regret it. Is that all, Markus?”

Markus inclined his head. “Yes. Thank you, sir.” Then he turned and left. 

Hank made to follow him, but Jeffrey called after him. 

“Don’t do something you’ll regret either, Hank.” 

Hank stopped in his tracks, an angry retort dying in his throat. He couldn’t come up with a rebuttal to that, so he just kept walking. Markus was waiting just outside. If he heard what Jeffrey said, he didn’t comment on it. 

“You, uh…you mean what you said in there?” Hank asked. “About this being something bigger.” 

Markus pursed his lips in thought. “I don’t know. I suspect so, and I’m not willing to take the chance that it isn’t. Besides, it was what I needed to say to make him give you the case. There’s no one I trust to handle this more than you, Hank.” 

Hank shrugged. “Well, I was going to do with or without his permission. It was just a question of whether I got to keep my job or not. So, uh…thanks, I guess.” 

Markus looked a little uncomfortable at that. “I don’t like to use my status or reputation to get what I want, but I gotta admit…it comes in handy sometimes.” His gaze trailed to the main entrance. “I should head back. I need to find out if anyone else knows anything. See who saw…who saw Connor last. Keep in touch.”

Hank nodded. “You too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Markus makes his entrance! We all know that isn't the extent of his reaction to losing Connor. Poor boy feels like he has to keep it together until he gets a moment to himself.


	5. Keep Turning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight makes first contact with a loved one, and Markus reacts to loss.

The waiting room at the DPD was constantly in motion as people filtered in and out while Eight waited for Lieutenant Anderson. He had been assured that the Lieutenant was in and would see him as soon as he was able, but after an hour had passed, he was beginning to think that the Lieutenant had forgotten.

And as Lieutenant Anderson and his partner were the ones in charge of this case, they were the only ones Eight could talk to. Since he didn’t have the authorization required to go searching for him in the station, he was left with waiting.

He considered leaving, but he didn’t have anything else to do. There were no tasks he needed to complete, and no one that required his presence, so he deemed that there was no reason not to wait a while longer. And before long, someone walked out, holding a phone to his ear.

“—got the results back, they said there were traces of dried thirium on the chains the victims were found in. Yeah, as soon as you can. Thanks.”

Eight could tell that the man wasn’t an officer from the lack of a uniform, but there was a badge was clipped to his waist. He pocketed the phone was about to step outside before Eight stopped him.

“Excuse me,” he said, and a quick scan told him that he was talking to Detective Gavin Reed. “Do you know where I might find Lieutenant Anderson?”

Detective Reed scowled, irritated at being interrupted, and Eight could see his eyes going to the LED at his temple. But he didn’t say anything, just turned back to the room he had just exited and yelled inside.

“Hey Chen! Send out the android lover, would you? There’s a tin can here to see him, and I got shit to do.”

Eight frowned. Detective Reed clearly wasn’t fond of androids. Eight found himself automatically filing this information away to assist in any further interactions, though he couldn’t imagine why there might _be_ any further interactions.

“I wouldn’t expect him to be of any help today,” Reed said, a touch of disdain in his voice. “I’m surprised he’s not drunk yet.”

“Thank you, Detective Reed,” Eight said, falling back on his social protocols that dictated politeness was the best way to respond.

“How do you—” Reed stopped himself, shaking his head. “Whatever. I’m out.”

He left, a cool wind entering the room until the door swung shut behind him. Two minutes later, a haggard looking older man walked out, tugging a jacket onto his shoulders.

Hank Anderson.

Eight stepped forward in front of the man, who looked about ready to push him out of the way so he could continue walking.

“Hello Lieutenant Anderson,” he greeted. “My name is Eight, an android from the Andronikov case. I was instructed to talk to you and your partner.”

Hank grimaced. “Yeah, well screw your instructions, I’m busy.”

“In that case, may I speak with your partner?”

That was the wrong thing to say. The Lieutenant froze, then his face hardened, and it was just then that Eight noticed the redness around his eyes.

“No,” Anderson said, roughly shoving past Eight and marching toward the door. “Now scram, I got more important things to do.”

The Lieutenant walked away and Eight watched him go. His LED was spinning red, though he wasn’t sure why. There was no threat, and he wasn’t in emotional distress…right?

His thoughts were interrupted when someone cleared their throat behind him, and he turned to see an officer standing there. C. MILLER was printed on his uniform.

“Hey, I couldn’t help but overhear you two talking. You’re from the Andronikov property?”

Eight nodded.

“I’m Chris Miller. I can take your statement. Follow me.”

“Thank you,” Eight said, and followed Officer Miller further into the station. He stopped at a desk and they sat down on either side of it.

Chris asked him a series of questions that Eight recognized as basic routine, but he had difficulty answering many of them, such as what his serial number was, and how long he’d been at Zlatko’s residence. Chris gave him a sympathetic look once he realized just how little Eight knew about himself, but assured him that it didn’t hinder the investigation.

Throughout the questioning, Eight’s gaze kept wandering over to the desk that held Lieutenant Anderson’s nameplate, though he wasn’t sure why it interested him. It was certainly cluttered, as opposed to the desk next to it, which was perfectly organized. Another nameplate sat on that one, but he couldn’t read it from this angle. This didn’t escape Chris’ notice, and he gestured in that direction while they were wrapping up.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Chris said, a tightness entering his voice. “He isn’t usually like that. He…he lost his partner today.”

Eight’s eyes snapped back over to Officer Miller. “Oh,” he wasn’t really sure what to say. It was customary to apologize for one’s loss, wasn’t it? “The android?”

Chris nodded. “Yeah. Connor. He, uh…kept Hank grounded, I think.”

Eight took note of Officer Miller’s tone and body language, both pointing to a clear conclusion. “He was your friend too,” he observed.

“He was a pretty decent guy,” Chris said, swallowing thickly. “He was really good at what he did. But, uh, you probably want to get going, huh? We’ve got everything we need, and if Hank has more questions about this case, he can contact you. Or whoever else takes the case if it gets reassigned.”

“Of course,” Eight said. “Is there anything else I can do to assist in the investigation?”

“That’s all,” Chris replied. “If you can remember anything else, or see something you think is important, then call it in. Otherwise, just let us take care of it.”

Eight couldn’t argue, so he thanked the officer and stood. His LED flickered to yellow when he read the name CONNOR printed on the second nameplate before exiting the building, and it stayed that color as he stood outside.

It felt like he hadn’t done enough, like there was more he should be doing. But this was police business, and he was not police. It wasn’t his duty to solve the case. It would be illegal to even try, as it would require police records he didn’t have access to. His only duty was to…well, to be alive, he supposed. And to find out what his purpose was.

He had only been alive for just over twelve hours, and was quickly learning things about himself. One thing he learned was that he didn’t like not having a purpose, a goal, a… _mission_ to fulfill. But even with that, there was still so much about himself that didn’t make any sense. Hopefully he could sort it all out at New Jericho.

But he only got more questions when he arrived at his destination an hour later and text filled his vision.

**OBJECTIVE: GET TO NEW JERICHO (SUCCESS)**

He’d never set an objective to reach New Jericho.

*

*

*

His studio was a place a solace for Markus to retreat to when he needed a moment to think. It couldn’t compare to the calming effect of visiting Carl, but when he didn’t have that much time to spare, this was the next best thing. It was quiet and solitary up here, and more importantly, it was his.

It was just a bare, run-down room in one of the buildings they were re-purposing for androids to live in, near the roof. They’d focused their renovating efforts closer to the ground floor while the levels closer to the top had remained untouched. One particularly stressful day, Markus had ventured up here for some peace of mind. Then next time, he’d brought a sketchbook. Then some painting supplies, and pretty soon, everyone knew this was where he went when he didn’t want to be disturbed.

Markus shut the door softly behind himself, then leaned against it and sagged to the floor.

Connor was dead.

He’d been avoiding the thought ever since he left the DPD, not allowing himself even a moment to process it. He couldn’t, not while others expected so much of him. He had to hold himself together in front of the police, in front of Jericho.

Now he could let go.

His visit to the station replayed itself in his head, from the moment he received the call. He knew something was wrong when it was Hank that called him instead of Connor. It wasn’t the first time Connor had been injured, but this…

This was so much worse. Seeing him had sent Markus back to the junkyard, where there had been countless androids in similar shape, all piled on one another and still clinging to life in a horrible existence. Part of him was glad Connor didn’t have to experience anything like that. Another part of him wished he had, because then there would have been a chance to save him.

Markus remembered trying to interface with Connor, reaching out to him for any kind of response, hoping to see something of the familiar landscape of Connor’s mind. He always saw analyses and percentages when he connected with Connor, as well as a fierce protectiveness, and always a hint of snow. There had to be something left.

But Markus hadn’t seen anything at all.

He ran a hand down his face, his palm coming away wet. It was always difficult, losing one of his people. A day couldn’t go by without him being reminded of what it’d taken to get to this point, and how far they still had to go. Every death weighed on him. But this one hit him particularly hard.

The androids would have never gained freedom without Connor. Markus would have crumbled under the pressure long ago if Connor hadn’t been there to help him. Josh, Simon, and North all shouldered their shares of responsibility, and they were still some of his closest friends, but some part of Markus felt like they still put him on a pedestal even after all they’d been through. Connor had never been that way. He’d never expected anything from Markus.

No one in Jericho knew anything about what happened. Connor had spent yesterday and most of the night assisting other androids wherever he could, from reviewing legal documents with Simon to repairing cracks in the walls and even entertaining the YK models with the Jerrys. Then he’d left shortly before dawn, and no one had seen him since.

Markus was probably one of the last people to talk to him, but that still left hours before he was found on the street, and no way of knowing _when_ he’d—

When he’d died.

Markus stood, walking over to his easel. He didn’t want to think about it anymore. He just wanted to get lost in the motions of moving paint across a canvas, with no idea what picture would emerge in the end. But he stopped when he saw the half-finished canvas that waited for him.

He didn’t have Connor in mind when he’d started the underwater scene, but the detective had taken a liking to it. It reminded him of his deviancy, he’d said. Something to do about how it all started with a fish.

The painting would remain unfinished. Markus didn’t think he could bring himself to complete it now.

The door opened and North walked in, with Josh right behind her.

“Hey,” she said, stopping a few feet away from him. “Thought maybe you could use some company.”

“How are you holding up?” Josh asked, shutting the door and giving him a sympathetic look.

Markus smiled bitterly. How was he supposed to answer that? “About as well as can be expected, I suppose.”

“We found an old punching bag and were thinking of hanging it up, if you wanted to let your anger out,” North said. “I’ve heard it’s a healthier coping mechanism than punching faces, but I’ve yet to be convinced."

Josh just rolled his eyes, but it brought a more genuine smile to Markus’ face, both used to North’s antics by now.

“Thanks,” Markus said, “but I think I’ll pass.” Mindlessly hitting an inanimate object didn’t sound appealing. North was right about him being angry, but right now…he was just tired. Drained. Mentally and emotionally, more than physically.

North shrugged. “Well, the offer still stands.”

“Connor was…” Josh paused for a second. “Connor was our friend too, but we’re here for you, Markus. Whatever you need.”

Markus looked away, unable to help the doubt that crept into his mind. Both North and Josh had been distrustful of the Deviant Hunter and wanted him gone, even if they never actively pushed for him to leave. Even when they were convinced he was on their side, North had seen what had happened during Markus’ freedom speech, and she didn’t want to risk it happening again. Even if Connor had said he was able to shut the malicious AI out of his mind.

Markus could understand their points of view, even if he didn’t agree with them. They’d already lost so much and their chances of survival were standing on paper-thin ice as it was. But still, he’d argued in Connor’s defense, and after weeks and then months passed with no incident, they’d gradually warmed up to the other android. He was grateful they eventually gave him a chance.

“Just…tell me some good news.” He definitely could use some of that right now.

“An anonymous donor just shipped in a load of supplies,” Josh said. “And construction on the second apartment building is going faster than planned. In another week, we’ll actually have a comfortable living space set up for almost everyone. It’ll be nice to give them something more permanent.”

“The anti-android group finally stopped lurking outside,” North added. “I guess the cops were able to do something useful after all. It’s almost a shame, I would have recommended hitting them instead of the punching bag.”

Josh gave her a disapproving look, but knew better than to rise to the bait. “Another android showed up today, from the Andronikov property. Says his name is Eight, and he just woke up this morning. I showed him around before coming here.”

“Good,” Markus muttered. It had been a while since a new face arrived at Jericho, but they still showed up every now and then, having been unable to come before due to one reason or another. Most of those reasons weren’t good.

He should greet the newcomer, see how he was settling in. Markus always wanted to make sure the androids felt safe and at home here in Jericho.

North sighed and folded her arms. “Markus, I’m going to be honest here, you look like shit. You should take a break.”

Markus looked up to see the concern in her eyes, and a wave of gratitude filled him. Her methods were blunt, but she cared. Even when she didn’t want others to see that.

“You need rest,” Josh agreed. “You should spend some time with Carl. We can handle things here for a little while.”

Normally, Markus would decline. He couldn’t rest without knowing that everyone else was okay, and that he was doing everything he could for them. Every time he’d tried, his processors felt like they were going a hundred miles a minute. It had robbed him of many nights’ worth of what should have been peaceful sleep. Being idle never helped him any.

“I…think I’ll take you guys up on that offer,” he said instead. But he had no intention of resting. There was something else that he needed to do. “But I’ll keep in touch. If you need anything, or hear about anything unusual, I need to know about it. Everyone needs to be on their guard. We still don’t know what…what killed Connor.”

Both North and Josh nodded their understanding, and Markus stared out the window, down at the streets below. There was a new threat to androids out there, and it needed to be found. His people needed protecting. That—that’s why he was doing this. That was the _only_ reason why he was doing this.

~~But he knew that wasn’t entirely true.~~

He just wanted ~~revenge~~ _justice_ for Connor.

Once again the door opened, and Simon walked in, glancing between the three of them before his gaze settled on Markus. He seemed to be searching for words.

Markus took a step closer to him. “Simon? What is it?”

Simon spoke slowly. “We found a transmission,” he said. “It was sent to our servers this morning. Markus…it’s from Connor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who's been leaving kudos and commenting! It makes my day whenever I see such kind words. <3


	6. All This Will Pass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> where I try to sound technical and also try to disguise the fact that I don't know technical stuff
> 
> Also Hank has a bad day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! I don’t have a strict updating schedule or anything, but I try to update roughly once a week. I don't know if I'll be able to keep that up or if updates will come every two weeks, but we'll see. I guess this is what happens when you don’t have a backlog of chapters ready to post.

"You said you found something?" Hank asked once Markus was in sight, skipping meaningless pleasantries. He hadn't wasted any time in heading to New Jericho once the android leader contacted him. 

Markus turned to greet the Lieutenant. Simon didn't move, standing in front of a screen on the wall, skin around his hand deactivated as he interfaced with the machine. 

"Yes," Markus said. "Thank you for coming so quickly. We received a message from Connor. It was sent yesterday morning." 

Hank's eyes widened. Connor had tried to tell them something. This could be it, this could tell them exactly what happened. If nothing else, it was a lead. "Well, what's it say?" 

"That's the thing," Markus said, glancing at Simon. "We don't know. Simon's been working all night to try and salvage the transmission, but it was corrupted. I don't know if something was blocking it from coming through or if he was…he might have been too damaged when he sent it."

Hank folded his arms, pretending that his throat wasn't burning with the desire for a shot of whiskey right now. Or better yet, a whole bottle. "Were you able to get anything from it?" 

Simon pulled away in frustration, the effects of strain and effort showing on his face. "It's too scrambled. I keep trying to piece it together, but it's unintelligible. I tried, but I just can't get the rest of the message." He rubbed his forehead as if it pained him, then gave Markus a regretful look. "I'm sorry." 

Markus' frame sagged, and he looked down. "You did your best, Simon." It was clear he was trying to keep the disappointed tone from his voice, but wasn't as successful as he'd hoped. 

Hank ran a hand down his face. "You said you can't get the _rest._ That means you were able to get _some,_ right?"

Simon nodded. Hank wasn't used to seeing androids looking as tired as humans did, but he somehow managed it. 

"It was just a few words here and there, incomplete fragments. RK was mentioned a few times, but I don't know if he was talking about himself or Markus. Probably himself, since I got half of a serial number, which seemed to match up with his own. He mentioned falling, and…and a name. Amanda." 

Hank stiffened, and he saw Markus do the same. He never really understood exactly what Amanda was, even though Connor had tried to explain it to him, but he knew she was bad news.

"So she had something to do with this," Hank muttered. "Markus, tell me…Connor told me about how one time she tried to _resume control_ or something. He said he thought he was safe from it ever happening again, but he was never 100% positive. Is it possible she…?" 

Markus' face looked pained. "I don't know." 

Hank swore, squeezing his eyes shut. "So she could've—could've gone puppet master on him and tugged his strings to make him just walk off the roof?" 

This was messed up. This was so messed up. Connor had tried to put every measure in place so she couldn't take control of him again, but things still went wrong somehow. 

"We don't know that yet," Markus said quietly. "You—you investigated the roof, right? You didn't find evidence of someone else being present, but that doesn't mean they weren't. Connor was trying to tell us about Amanda, but we still don't know what happened or who else might have been involved." 

Right. Focus, Hank. One of the first things he learned on this job is that assumptions get you nowhere. "So does this mean Cyberlife was involved? She was his direct link to them, and he said he didn't think she was capable of deviating from her programming or whatever." 

"At this point, I don't know what's possible. I've never met her, never had the chance to examine her coding. We've been trying to find ways to work with Cyberlife, but they're fighting us almost every step of the way. Still, I don't think they'd try something like this. If it came to light that they were responsible for the death of an android—especially one with direct ties to law enforcement—it would destroy everything they have left." 

"Desperation could be a motive. We can't rule out anything until we're sure, but it's something to look into, at least. They're going to have the info we need on Amanda anyway, so I'll be paying them a visit." Hank hated that he was using words like _motive_ and _lead_ when it came to Connor. "Were you able to find out what time he sent that? We need to piece together what happened yesterday, what time he left New Jericho, and who was the last to talk to him." 

"Of course," Simon said. "Jerry saw him leave at 7:00 A.M. on the dot. Then this was sent at 7:41 A.M." 

Markus’ brows knotted together in confusion. "No. No, that can't be right,” he said slowly. “I talked to him just after that, so we know he had to have sent it later." 

Simon frowned. "Markus, I'm positive that's when it was sent."

Hank tried to ignore the way it felt his heart had just sank like a lead weight into his gut. "What did he say to you?" he asked Markus, fishing the phone out of his pocket. 

"I have the whole conversation stored in my data, and he didn't say anything about Amanda. He just wanted to check on me, he told me to take care of myself. He told me he was fine. The conversation didn't even last thirty seconds."

As he talked, Hank could see him putting it together. 

"Just told you to take care of yourself, huh?" That sounded painfully familiar. He pulled up his recent calls, which only confirmed it. "He called me at 7:43. Right after he was done talking to you, I'm guessing."

That excuse about being underground was bullshit, and if Hank had actually stopped to think about it, he would have noticed something was off. Connor had said _“see you tomorrow”_ knowing full well he wouldn’t. 

That _bastard._

“He knew,” Markus whispered. 

Hank had seen many things in his career that ranged from horrific to downright heartbreaking. One of the saddest things he had seen were the cases where the victims didn't die immediately. The victims who used what little time they had left to talk to the people they cared about. 

To say goodbye. 

"He told me he was fine," Markus said, leaning against the wall like it was the only thing holding him up. He reached up a hand and covered his eyes. “He told me he was _fine._ ”

Hank couldn’t do this anymore. He needed a drink. He turned on his heel and stormed away, ignoring the looks the androids were giving him. He got in his car, but didn’t start the engine. Instead, he just sat there. People moved around outside, going about their daily lives, and it felt wrong. How could they be doing anything normal, acting like nothing had happened? 

But most of them didn’t even know Connor. They probably didn’t even know anything _had_ happened.

It wasn’t fair.

Hank knew the world wasn’t fair and you just had to deal with whatever crap hand life dealt to you, but Connor was…he was still learning how to be alive. He didn’t deserve this. 

Hank slammed his hands down in the steering wheel, causing the horn to honk and startling a few android kids that were playing with a soccer ball. 

Cole had loved playing soccer. Connor had never even gotten the chance to find out if he liked it. 

His phone buzzed, bringing him back to the present. He took it out, fingers heavy as he unlocked the screen. He needed to find Connor’s killer. He could do that much before spiraling down that familiar path. After that was done, he could…well, he was sure he’d burn that bridge when he got to it. 

_JEFF: I’m sorry, Hank. I did everything I could, but Kamski took the body._

Hank turned the car on and threw it into reverse. First, he had a rich prick to deal with. 

*

*

*

“What do you mean, he’s already been _collected_? Bring him back!” Hank yelled into the face of the technician tasked with talking to him. He couldn’t even remember the guy’s name, but at the moment, he couldn’t care less. 

"I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do about it. It’s one thing for androids who are alive, and another when there’s no AI inside. Mr. Kamski has made sure that he has full possession of the RK800 model. He’s done everything legally. Maybe if the laws were more finalized, it’d be a different story, but as it is, it would be illegal for you to try and reclaim what is essentially an empty shell,” the technician explained, struggling to keep his calm.

Hank bristled at the term _empty shell_. That was all Connor was to these people. 

Markus had managed to push the laws to move quicker than normal when it came to recognizing androids as alive and to start giving them the basic rights of people, but apparently that didn’t extend yet to their dead. No one seemed to know what to do with bodies. Keep them in hopes of reactivation? Disassemble them for parts for the living? Bury them?

He understood that there was a lot that needed be done politically to get everything sorted out, and with time this wouldn’t be an issue anymore. But that didn’t help him now, when there were loopholes for people like _Elijah Kamski_ to exploit. 

The technician straightened his glasses. “You’ll just have to take it up with Mr. Kamski himself,” he said in a tone that suggested he highly doubted Hank would be able to make that happen. 

Hank was nothing if not determined. "I'll just do that then. Care to tell me where I can find the slimy prick?" He’d come to collect Connor’s body, after all. He was probably still in the building. 

"Lieutenant Anderson," said a voice from behind him.

Hank turned to see a familiar face framed by blonde hair, blue LED on display. For the life of him, he couldn't remember her name. 

"It’s Chloe," she helpfully supplied. "We've met before." 

"You with Kamski?" Hank asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion. He didn't remember hearing about what happened to all of Kamski's androids after the revolution. They'd constantly had their hands full, but someone should have made sure they deviated and were freed along with everyone else. 

"I am," she said with a formal air about her. It was the same as how she had acted when he went to Kamski's home.

He stepped closer. "Is he keeping you there against your will? You and all the other…you's? Because if he is, I swear, I'll arrest him here and now—" 

"Thank you for your concern," Chloe interrupted, shaking her head with a soft smile, "but I'm fine. I stay with him by choice. I know what you think of Elijah, and while he certainly can be…difficult, he's not a cruel man. We are safe, I assure you." 

He wasn't buying it, not when she still had the whole Stepford Wife thing going on. "And Kamski telling Connor to shoot you, that was him keeping you _safe_?"

“But he didn’t shoot me, and I don’t hold it against either of them. I'm not here to talk about the past, Lieutenant. I'm here to address what's going on now." She paused, sympathy crossing her face. "I'm sorry for your loss. I just wanted you to know that we will treat the body with utmost respect. He deserves no less."

Then it hit him. She was with Kamski. Kamski, who was taking Connor's body away from Hank. 

"He's not even here, is he? He's back in his fancy mansion, sending you out to do his dirty work for him! Well, you can tell him that I’m not letting this happen. Connor isn’t just some _machine_ for him to play with!” 

Chloe kept her calm in the face of Hank’s explosive temper. “We know he isn’t. Elijah wasn’t part of Cyberlife when they built Connor, and he’s curious about his design. He wants to help androidkind in the future, and believes examining the RK800 can help with that.” 

“That’s a load of bull! He doesn’t help anyone, not unless it fits into whatever twisted game he’s playing.” 

“When he is done, he will have Connor returned to New Jericho. He will even go to the liberty of repairing the damage so that he may be honored before burial.” 

Hank’s thought process completely halted at the word _repair_ , and all he could think about was Connor getting shot in front of him and showing up the next day like nothing had happened. “Repair? Can he…can he fix him?” 

He couldn’t keep giving himself false hope like this, but if anyone could bring Connor back, it would be Kamski. Right?

“I’m sorry,” was all Chloe needed to say. “He can repair the damage to the body, but the data…everything that Connor _is_ , is gone.”

Gone. Not coming back. He knew that. He knew it, but every time he heard the words coming out of someone’s mouth, it was like getting hit with a sack of bricks all over again. 

Chloe placed a comforting hand on Hank’s arm, then left. He didn’t try to follow her, didn’t even watch her leave. He just plodded over to his desk and sat down heavily, rubbing his face. He was tired. Tired, but he didn’t want to go home, didn’t want to try and sleep. If he did, he would have time to think about it, and start blaming himself all over again. 

He absentmindedly shuffled through the papers that were left on his desk, everything that the technicians had gathered about Connor for the case. 

This shouldn’t be affecting him this way. This wasn’t like Cole. He could get through this. It had only been one day. 

But Connor was his _partner_. He had saved Hank’s life by jumping in front of a spray of bullets. He was the reason Hank started believing androids were alive. He was the reason Hank had started digging himself out of the pit of grief he’d been trapped in. 

Hank’s hand froze as he read the text on the paper. 

August 2, 2038.

That was the day that Connor was officially activated. Two weeks later, he’d had his first mission—a hostage situation with a deviant as the culprit. RK800 #313 248 317-51 talked down and shot the deviant, saving the hostage. Three months later he was shot and deactivated at Stratford Tower, and uploaded to model RK800 #313 248 317-52. 

Connor had probably been activated and deactivated countless times as he was being designed and built and debugged, but August 2nd was the date he was cleared for active duty. If anything, it could be considered his birthday. Or maybe he would have preferred the day he deviated, but considering the guilt he carried for what happened to the original Jericho freighter, Hank figured that was unlikely. Not that it mattered anymore, but… 

He hadn’t even been _one year old._

Hank set down the papers, not bothering to smooth out the wrinkles from where he held them too tightly. What kind of partner was he if he never even thought about asking Connor things like how old he was?

_A shitty one, that’s what._

“Hey, Gramps.” 

Hank looked up to see Reed standing next to his desk, arms folded and brows knotted together. 

“Whaddayou want?” Hank grumbled, shoving the papers in a drawer. 

“Saw you talking to that robo-chick. Chloe. What did she want?” 

Hank glared at him. “What’s it to you?” 

Reed fidgeted—actually _fidgeted_ —and returned the glare. “Just answer the question, old man.” 

He really didn’t feel like talking to Reed right now. “Ask someone else, you prick.” 

The detective swore, but left without further complaint. Hank stood and grabbed his jacket, making his way to his beat up old car. He had a rogue AI to track down. 

He got in and started up the engine, barely registering the low fuel meter as he pulled away from the DPD. He should probably take care of that. And feed Sumo. Or he could call the neighbor kid, ask her to do it—

Hank glimpsed a figure on the sidewalk with a white jacket and a familiar face, and slammed on the brakes. The cars behind him honked loudly, but he ignored them, trying to find Connor in the crowd again. That was Connor’s face, he _knew_ it was, with the familiar slicked-back brown hair…

There was nothing. It was a busy area for pedestrians, and there were plenty of men walking around with brown hair and a similar build. At least three of them had white jackets, and none of them were Connor. 

Hank sat back, his heart racing. Grief and sleep deprivation, that’s all it was. He hadn’t seen Connor. He saw someone who looked similar to Connor, and his mind filled in the blanks, only making him _think_ it was him. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d seen a young boy running around and thought it was Cole. 

The fallacy of the human mind. 

Hank started driving again and the honking behind him ceased. He needed a coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all getting tired of the angst yet? I hope I'm not laying it on too thick.


	7. I'd Rather Be Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight gets to know some of the leaders of New Jericho.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a brief panic in this chapter.

New Jericho wasn’t what he expected. Eight thought he would find a space for androids and humans to live in harmony with one another, since that was the dream he heard Markus aspired for, but there wasn’t a human in sight. Another thing he hadn’t expected was that androids everywhere were doing tasks they weren’t _designed_ to do. 

A companion model was in charge of security. Caretakers assisted in construction. Gardeners tended the children. And in between each job, they lounged in the common areas, socializing and playing and relaxing in manners that seemed very _human_ to him. 

It shouldn’t have surprised him. This was what their freedom got them: they could choose how they worked and spent their days without their own coding deciding that for them. They were free to try different things. Just like he was. 

But he still struggled. He had no idea what tasks he was built to complete. It seemed more efficient to do something he knew he was good at rather than to try and find something he thought he enjoyed. 

No one else he talked to shared these sentiments. 

He liked being busy. He liked focusing on what he was doing and the satisfaction of completing something on his task-list. There was no shortage of things to be done, so he helped out where he could. Josh kept urging him to take a break, to relax or do something fun, but Eight honestly couldn’t see the point. 

So when a small group was sent to scout out another building for the androids to renovate, Eight volunteered to join. There were a number of abandoned buildings to choose from that had either fallen into disrepair, or just not been completed in the first place. They were free to repair whichever ones they wanted in the area and use them how they saw fit, but when it came to resources, they were very limited. That was one of the many things the leaders of New Jericho were trying to obtain from the government. 

The most promising was another apartment building just a block away from the main New Jericho hub, but when he ventured onto the roof to check its stability, something caught his eye. 

A solitary figure sat perched on the edge of another roof down the street. His shoulders were hunched, feet dangling over an eight-story drop. 

Eight’s LED flashed red as he instantly started calculating the fastest route, but if the person was getting ready to jump, there was a very small chance he would make it in time. Calling out might only startle him. His scans were able to tell him that it was another android over there, but the distance was too great to be able to read his stress levels. 

“I wouldn’t worry too much about him,” said a voice from behind him.

Eight turned, berating himself for not allotting enough processing power to check his own proximity sensors. Anyone could have snuck up behind him. 

It was the companion model, the one who had taken over the security of New Jericho. North. She had joined the group wanting to make sure that whichever building they chose could be easily defended if needed. 

His LED flickered to yellow. Why was his first thought to look for a threat? 

Her words caught up to him, and he glanced back at the solitary android. She obviously knew who he was, and her posture didn’t show any concern that he was on a ledge almost a hundred feet in the air. 

“What is he doing?” Eight asked. 

North stepped forward to join him. “Knowing him, he’s probably brooding over the fate of android-kind and his idiotic belief that it all rests on his shoulders. And because he’s dramatic and has a thing for heights, he likes to do it next to a sheer drop, probably staring off into the sunset or something,” she said, her tone joking and casual. 

Eight’s brows knitted together in confusion, and then it dawned on him. “That’s Markus,” he deduced. He hadn’t met the revolutionary leader yet, but it was no secret that North was a close friend of his, along with Josh and Simon. He had already heard several stories about the four of them and the bonds of comradeship that had formed among them during the revolution. 

“He likes to go off on his own to think sometimes,” North said. “Especially…lately.” 

Eight looked back at Markus, for some reason unable to turn away. From here, he looked very…small. Lonely. “Is he okay?” 

North’s expression softened. "He'll be fine. We all have our coping methods. This is his. He has a bad habit of not taking enough time for himself, so it's almost a relief when he does this. It's a lot of pressure on his shoulders, even with the rest of us to help. And especially now, after Connor…he just needs time." 

Eight frowned at the glitched error message that popped up in his vision for a split second before vanishing again. It hadn’t happened since he had left the DPD, and he couldn’t find a cause for it. He made a note to run a full diagnostics scan later before turning back to the matter at hand. 

“Connor…” he said, unable to explain the feeling he received when he said the name aloud. “I’ve heard his name mentioned before, at the police department. He was important?” 

North huffed out something between a laugh and a snort. “He was the Deviant Hunter. Cyberlife’s personal bloodhound sent out to stop the spread of deviancy. Then he deviated himself and released thousands of androids from the assembly plant. The revolution wouldn’t have turned out the way it did without him. So yeah, he was pretty important.” She trailed off, staring at Markus. “He was also important to those who cared about him.” 

“Did you care about him?”

“I hated him,” North said bluntly. “I didn’t trust him. More than that, I didn’t trust his connection to Cyberlife. Even if _he_ had good intentions, there was no telling if they would come up with something else to put him back on a leash. He was a specialized prototype with protocols for negotiation, investigation, and combat. I had a reason to be worried. It wasn’t until—” she stopped herself abruptly, glancing over at Eight as if just remembering that he was there. “Well, he shared my concerns. And he kinda grew on me.”

There was clearly a story there, but Eight didn’t press further. It wasn’t relevant to him anyway, and it was likely that she wouldn’t appreciate him asking about personal matters. 

North continued speaking. “He was the only one willing to do something about security measures. Markus wants his people to be safe, of course, but he’s also afraid of overstepping. He’s worried that if one android fights back against some sick bastard with a grudge, it could start the slaughter all over again. He’s right, though.” She whirled on Eight and suddenly her finger was in his face. “Don’t tell him I said that, okay?” 

Raising his eyebrows, he nodded, and she peered suspiciously at him, before nodding and leaning away, continuing her story. 

“Markus is right that it’s a delicate balance, but Connor was able to make things safer. At least a little.” 

“And now that’s your job? Since he’s gone?” 

“Someone had to do it. Honestly, I think the only reason Markus agreed was because he was worried about me doing something drastic otherwise. Not to say he’s wrong, but…” she shrugged. “There’s only so much we can do for androids wandering the city, but any human acting on their own wouldn’t be able to get into New Jericho.” 

Eight frowned. The androids had been largely peaceful during the revolution under Markus’ guidance, and were granted protection by the government. But the government _enforcement_ of said protection was lacking so far. 

“Are there many cases of that happening?” he asked, growing more and more concerned with the safety of the androids the more North talked. 

She scoffed. “They call it _vigilante justice_. Like they’re superheroes that are going to save mankind from the violent machines taking over the city. A hundred androids sitting in the street with their hands in the air, being gunned down because we asked for freedom, and word they choose to describe _us_ is _violent_.” 

“Not all humans, though,” Eight said softly, his processors bringing up news reports of humans sitting with the androids at protests, of people like Phil and Lieutenant Anderson working themselves ragged to help. 

“Not all,” North agreed. “But enough.” 

*

*

*

Markus was still in the same position when Eight approached him an hour later. He might have been in stasis for how still he was, but his mismatched eyes were open, staring at the point where the sun had disappeared as if his gaze alone could bring it back.

Eight hung back. He knew that North said the android leader needed time, but he just hadn’t been able to get the image of Markus sitting there on the edge out of his mind. But now he only felt like he was intruding on a private moment. 

He probably was. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to come here. 

“Did you need something?” Markus spoke up.

Eight shifted awkwardly. “No, I just want to…check on you.” 

Markus still didn't move. "Thank you for your concern, but you don't need to worry. I'm fine." 

His voice was calm, his tone perfectly level. Despite that—or maybe because of it—Eight knew it was a lie.

“You’re not, though.” 

This caused Markus to look up, like he was surprised Eight hadn’t just walked away. Eight held still while Markus scanned him, watching something flicker in the other android’s expression. 

“You’re Eight, right?” 

Eight nodded. 

Markus got to his feet, stepping away from the edge of the roof. He held out his hand in greeting. “I apologize for not taking the time to welcome you to Jericho. I was…otherwise occupied.” 

Somehow, it didn’t surprise Eight that Markus would place it upon himself to greet every single android and make them feel welcome. It also didn’t surprise him that Markus would feel guilty for not being able to live up to his own impossible standards. It was quickly becoming clear to him what type of person Markus was. 

“No need to apologize, I understand,” Eight replied, accepting the handshake. The skin receded from their hands where they connected. 

**RUNNING PROTOCOL: M̴͠E̶̕M̵̕͡O͟RY̵̧ DATABASE PROBE (AUTOMATIC RESPONSE)**

Flashes of memory few across Eight’s vision. An old man in a wheelchair, splattered paints, a junkyard piled high with android bodies. In one image, an android was pointing a gun at his head, and in the next it was his own hands aiming the weapon— 

The images dissolved into static and Eight yanked his hand away, pressing it against his temple at the onslaught of a sudden headache. With the contact ceased, it faded almost as quickly as it came, the static dispersing. The whole thing had lasted no more than a few seconds. 

Markus was regarding him with surprise and concern, wrapping his long coat tighter around himself. 

“Usually we ask for permission before rifling through someone else’s memories,” Markus said distractedly, his tone more joking than actually angry. “Are you alright?” 

Eight shook his head, more to clear the lingering static than to answer the question. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to. It was automatic, I wasn’t even aware I had that protocol in my systems. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s…it’s fine. No harm done, right?” 

Eight considered looking more closely at the memories of what he’d seen, but decided against it. They weren’t his, and they hadn’t been given willingly, so instead he filed them away. 

“You were just activated recently?” Markus asked, confusion in his tone. 

It only made sense that he saw some of Eight’s memories as well, and he briefly wondered what the deviant leader had found in his mind. Not much, probably. 

“Yes, last week.”

Markus' brows furrowed. "That doesn't make any sense. I don't think any new androids have been activated since the revolution." 

Eight didn't know what to say. "I don't understand it either. But here I am.” 

Markus gave a tired but genuine smile. "That's what's important.” He paused, considering. “May I ask you something?"

“Of course.” 

“Why Eight? You could have chosen any name you wanted. You still can.” 

Eight looked away. "It didn't feel right to choose something at random.” 

"A name is what you make of it," Markus said. "But I can respect your decision, even if it doesn't make sense to me." 

It didn't make sense to Eight, either. But he was still figuring himself out, and from what he gathered, it was an ongoing process. People—both humans and androids—were constantly trying to figure out who they were. 

The thought seemed familiar somehow, like he'd heard it from someone else. It made him think of a dusty old bar for some reason, even though he’d never been to one before. 

"Penny for your thoughts?" Markus asked. 

Eight blinked in confusion. "Why would you—oh. That's an idiom, isn't it?" 

Markus’ face fell, grief crossing over his features. He turned away, gazing down at the street below. 

Eight frowned, suddenly very aware of every centimeter separating Markus and the edge. He didn’t believe Markus was about to jump, but he stepped closer anyway, ready to grab him if needed. “What’s wrong? Was it something I said?” 

Markus didn’t reply, so Eight followed his gaze, peering over the edge. 

His thirium pump stuttered, knees locking in place. His mind was constantly running calculations, taking in megabytes of data every second and either storing or discarding the information, and right now it was overwhelming. The only thing his mind could focus on was the exact distance from here to the ground, how long it would take him to impact the asphalt down to the millisecond, and the list of potential damage he could receive if he were to fall, all flying across his vision. 

He closed his eyes to try and stop the intake of data. He could almost feel the air rushing around him as he fell even though he was standing on solid ground.

Eight sucked in a breath to cool his overheating biocomponents, mind whirring as he tried to make sense of his own reaction. Acrophobia, his database supplied. A fear of heights. But he was steadily planted on the roof, with a very low chance of falling off accidentally. There was no logical reason for him to be fearful. 

Telling himself that didn’t help as much as he wanted it to. 

“That sounds like something he would have said,” Markus’ voice broke through the panic in his mind, bringing him back to the present. The deviant leader still had his back to Eight, completely unaware of what was going on behind him. “He would get confused by idioms sometimes too.” 

Eight didn’t need to ask who he was referring to, not after his conversation with North. 

His pump was still beating much faster than it should have been for someone who was just standing still, so he cast one last quick glance at the ground before stepping away— 

Thirium. 

There was blue blood splattered on the sidewalk below them. A lot of it. 

It had evaporated some time ago, but Eight could still see the traces it left behind, faded from exposure to the elements. He estimated that it had been there anywhere between two days and a week. The next rainfall would probably wash it away completely.

Sometime within the week, someone else had been standing on this roof and fallen. With that amount of thirium below them, there was no chance of survival. Alarmed, he turned to Markus, but then deductive reasoning caught up with him. 

Markus already knew. It was why he was here in the first place. 

“This is where…” Eight trailed off, unsure if mentioning it would cause Markus any emotional distress. 

“Connor,” Markus finished for him quietly. “I keep thinking about what might have happened here. How this view must have been one of the last things he saw.” 

“Markus,” Eight began, but he didn’t know what to say. His social protocols came up with several dialogue options, common phrases of offering condolences, but the words just felt empty when he had no idea what the other android was going through. He had never experienced loss. He didn’t know what it felt like. 

But Markus cut him off. “He was so close to Jericho. Just a little farther and he’d have been right outside. No one saw anything. No one even knew anything was happening,” he said, lost in his own thoughts. “ _If only I’d known_.” 

“None of this was your fault,” Eight said awkwardly. “I’m sure there’s nothing more you could have done…”

“I don’t even know what happened here, and I don’t know how to figure it out.” Markus shook his head. “He would know how to get to the bottom of this. I just…I wish he were here right now.” 

Eight looked around, at a loss for what to do. He wanted to say something, to make it better. But he didn’t know how to do that. 

“Markus,” he tried again, reaching out a hand to comfort the other android. 

“Can you just…leave me alone? Please?” 

He sounded so tired. 

Eight stopped, then pulled back, nodding. "Of course. I'm sorry," he said. "You're mourning. I understand." 

His shoes crunched on the rooftop as he walked away. He almost stopped to offer his assistance in case Markus ever needed it, but then didn’t. If Markus needed someone, it would be someone he cared about. 

Eight was just a stranger intruding on someone else’s grief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, because it's so cemented in my mind that Eight is Connor, sometimes my brain forgets that I'm not supposed to call him that. Every time he's in a chapter, I have to make sure and double check that I call him the right thing. I slipped into calling him Connor several times during the writing of this chapter.


	8. One by One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait!

_[How is everything holding up?]_ Markus asked over the connection, absently tidying Carl's studio while the older man slept upstairs. 

_[Much the same as when you asked four hours ago,]_ came Josh’s exasperated reply. _[Simon’s been dealing with Senator Kelley, and from what he says, it seems to be going smoothly.]_

_[Hey, you can’t fault me for worrying,]_ Markus tried to defend himself. 

_[You know what, let me take back what I said before. We can’t possibly function for much longer without you, Markus. Everything will just fall apart if you don’t guide us through all the boring, every day tasks, oh fearless leader.]_

Markus pulled a face, even though Josh couldn’t see it. _[Alright, there’s no need for that. I can take a hint.]_

_[I’m serious, we have an absolute crisis on our hands,]_ Josh insisted without even a hint of seriousness in his tone. _[Cassie’s dying to show her art teacher the newest painting she made, and you know it’s not a good idea to make her wait. She can be very demanding for a YK400.]_

Markus chuckled. _[Yes, she is. Though most five-year-olds are.]_

Josh sent an apologetic wave through the connection. _[Though, there is the Mayor’s charity banquet in three days that requires your attendance. I know you’re still busy working with Lieutenant Anderson, but you know how important this is.]_

He paused in sorting the various blue paints. Right. That. A fancy party hosted by the Mayor of Detroit where Markus could show his face and reassure the public that he and his people meant no harm. It was charity for androids, after all. 

He should be grateful that the Mayor had agreed to put it together, but it was difficult not to be bitter about the whole situation and how they were forced to rely on appealing to the rich and influential for support. 

He hated politics. 

It wasn’t like it was short notice. Invitations were sent out last month and he saw the notification every time he looked at his internal calendar. He had just…forgotten. 

_[I'll be there,]_ he assured Josh. He might be currently focused on other things, but that didn’t mean could abandon everything else. 

_[Good. It’s drawing a lot of people out of the holes they hid in during the revolution, and we need to show them that we mean it with the peace and equality thing. Even Elijah Kamski is supposed to be there.]_

Markus blinked, surprised. Aside from when he was first activated, he had never met the reclusive billionaire. Everyone expected Kamski to have something to say in regards to his own creations demanding equal rights, either in support or opposition, but so far he had remained silent. 

It would be interesting to meet him in person, but Markus would remain cautious. He didn’t know whose side Elijah Kamski was on. 

Josh’s voice turned somber. _[And…there was one other thing. No one’s seen Blue since yesterday morning, and Blaire’s really worried.]_

Markus set down the tubes of paint, immediately fearing the worst. Several androids had gone missing since the revolution, even after they got settled at New Jericho. It wasn’t always a cause for worry; some left wanting to take their chances elsewhere, while others went to search for loved ones. But other times, that wasn’t the case. 

Blue wouldn’t have left Jericho voluntarily, not without Blaire. She was one of the more optimistic androids, always cheering others up. She tried to see the best in humanity, but she had also seen the worst when she and her girlfriend escaped the Eden Club. She wouldn’t have done something as risky as go out by herself. 

They had buddy systems in place. If anyone had to leave Jericho, they would do so in groups. Androids were constantly pinging each other to let everyone know they were okay. Some could get away with pretending to be human, but even without LEDs, the faces they shared with countless other androids gave them away. Things were improving, but it was still dangerous to go out alone. 

_[Okay,]_ Markus sent, unable to keep his concern from flooding the connection. _[Tell everyone to—]_

_[Be careful, be safe, keep our eyes open. A few groups have volunteered to go looking and the DPD has already been informed. We know what to do, Markus,]_ Josh said, his voice gentle. _[I just thought you should know.]_

_[Right. Thanks.]_

The line disconnected, and Markus lowered his head. He wasn’t doing enough. He tried to be patient with the politicians, understanding that the world couldn’t be changed overnight, but during that time his people were still suffering. He tried to support the Detroit police, knowing that they were understaffed and the city was in chaos still dealing with the aftereffects of the evacuation, while his people weren’t receiving the help they needed.

He spent all his time last week scouring for clues— _anything_ —as to what had happened to Connor, and he didn’t have anything to show for it. And now someone else had gone missing while his back was turned. 

It was never enough. 

With a yell, he grabbed a tube of paint and hurled it across the room. It burst open on impact, splattering the concrete floor and looking a little too much like blue blood. 

“You know, I always thought this room looked a little flat. Maybe more paint on the floor is just what it needs,” said a familiar gravelly voice. 

Markus turned to see Carl wheeling into the room. “Carl…” he said, then guiltily looked back to the mess on the floor. “I’m sorry. I’ll clean this up.” 

Carl stopped him with a gentle hand when he tried to walk past to get a rag. “Don’t. It adds character to the room. Besides, not all the paint splatters in here are because of paint dripping off canvas. Anger can’t be washed away from our hearts as easily as paint can be washed from the floor. And if the anger is aimed at injustices, maybe it shouldn’t be washed away at all.” 

Markus glanced around the room, taking in all the splotches of paint that adorned the room. Carl had had plenty to be angry about in his life—the death of his wife, the estrangement of a son, paralysis—and that he expressed those feelings in paint. He had probably done his fair share of throwing it across the room as well. 

“Now, why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you?” 

He shut his eyes for a moment, then forced a smile onto his face. These weren’t Carl’s problems to deal with, and Markus knew what the stress could do to his weak heart. “Don’t worry, Carl. It’s nothing.” 

But Carl frowned, seeing right through it. "If there's one place you don't have to do that, son, it's here. You know how I feel about fake smiles and empty words.”

With a sigh of air circulating through his systems, Markus let his agitation show by pacing. “We can’t do anything but sit and wait while we get picked off one by one. So much has changed these last few months, but it’s not changing fast enough.”

Carl watched him calmly. “Humans are slow, and most of us don’t react well to change. But you’ve already set in motion something that can’t be undone. It will take time. We just need to be pushed sometimes.” 

“I know,” Markus said, and it was true. “It’s just…hard.” 

“You knew from the beginning that it was never going to be easy,” Carl said with a soft chuckle that sounded more like a wheeze. He wheeled closer to Markus and laid a frail hand on his arm. “Listen, if you ask me, everyone is afraid of androids. Even those who have been supporting you from the very beginning.” 

Markus opened his mouth to protest that there was no reason to be afraid because they were _peaceful_ , but Carl shushed him.  
“Not afraid in the ways that you think—though there are plenty of people who still believe that you’re lulling them into a false sense of security before you strike, or that it’s all an elaborate hoax—but afraid _because_ you are peaceful. There’s an old saying that people are flawed, and that’s what makes us human. But now we’re faced with beings who aren’t human, who were made to be better than all of us. The perfect caretaker, the perfect assistant, the perfect partner. That was how androids were advertised. And now, many have hopes that you will make the world a better place.”

Those words put an uncomfortable feeling in Markus’ biocomponents. He didn’t know how he was supposed to do that. He was just one person, and his were a struggling people. It was too much expectation for anyone to handle. 

Carl continued. “That puts you and all the androids on a whole other level in their eyes, and that blinds them. It puts distance between humans and androids, and when there's distance, there's a lack of understanding. People are afraid of what they don't understand. But I just think that most people haven’t had a chance to see how human you really are.” 

Markus wasn’t entirely sure if that made sense, but he thought he understood what Carl was saying. However, there wasn’t much he could do about it. The only thing to fix the problem was to encourage more androids and humans to mingle, but things were simply still too dangerous; as was evident with what happened to Blue. Maybe one day they could open up Jericho to more than one or two trusted human allies, but it certainly wasn’t today.

The doorbell rang, breaking that chain of thought. 

Thomas, the android who looked after Carl when Markus was away, was already at the door when the two made their way into the foyer. Hank Anderson was standing on the other side. 

“Lieutenant,” Markus said in surprise. “What are you doing here?” 

“You said I could find you here if you weren’t answering your calls,” Hank said like it was obvious. Maybe it was, since they had agreed to meet up today and talk about Connor’s case. 

“Of course. Sorry, I must have been talking to Josh then. Did you find something?”

Hank nodded. “Yeah. Not exactly what we wanted, but it’s a start at least.” He looked around. “Nice, uh…nice house.” 

Markus blinked, remembering that Carl and Thomas were still right there. He’d been too eager to hear about what the Lieutenant had discovered. Turning to Carl, he said, “You should rest some more. The Lieutenant and I will leave, and I’ll be back—” 

“Nonsense, boy,” Carl waved a dismissive hand. “Invite your guest inside, and we can offer him a drink. If you two need to talk business without us around, we can make ourselves scarce. Would you like a scotch?” he asked Hank. 

“Sure,” Hank said, walking inside. “Yeah, that’d be nice.” 

Carl turned to Thomas. “Thomas, would you please serve our guest a drink?” 

Thomas nodded. “Of course.” He turned and offered Hank a handshake. “Nice to meet you, Lieutenant.” 

“Likewise.” 

“I’m Carl Manfred, but please, call me Carl. Any friend of the androids is a friend of mine,” Carl said to Hank as Markus pushed him to the dining table.

The Lieutenant paused in the doorway, taking in the room and staring bewildered at the giraffe that towered in the corner. He accepted Thomas’ glass of scotch with a muttered thanks. 

“Carl, it’s time for your medication,” Thomas said, stepping behind the wheelchair to take him upstairs. 

Carl grimaced, but obliged. “Wonderful. My favorite time of the day. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to excuse me.” 

“Of course,” said Markus as they left, feeling a twinge of pity for the old man. He knew how much Carl hated his medications, but another part of him wished that he was still the one administering it. Not because he enjoyed Carl’s pain, of course not, but because it somehow made him feel better to be there for his father figure. 

That, and he found himself missing the days when looking after the old man was his only job. He wouldn’t give up what they’d fought for in a million years, but everything was so much simpler when he was exclusively Carl’s caretaker. 

Hank regarded Markus with raised eyebrows. “You know, when you gave me the address, I thought this would be another place for androids. Instead, we’re in some mansion. Who is this guy, anyway?” 

“My dad,” Markus replied, and Hank did a double take. 

“Your what now?” 

Markus smiled. “I was his android before I deviated, and I owe a lot to him. He’s the one that taught me to be…more than what I was. Anyway, what did you find out?” 

Hank downed the rest of his drink in one gulp. “I finally managed to get in to talk to someone at Cyberlife and ask them Amanda. Apparently, she’s gone AWOL. She’s not in their servers or whatever, and the programmer I talked to just assumed that she was deleted during the revolution. As far as she could figure, there’s no way to be able to confirm that.” 

“So either Amanda’s been dead for months, or she got free from them and is acting on her own,” Markus surmised. 

“We can’t rule out the possibility that Cyberlife is hiding something,” Hank pointed out. “When I was there, I caught a glimpse of something on one of their screens. I wasn’t supposed to see it, and couldn’t ask about it without getting kicked out, but it looked like there was a failed attempt to recover one of their prototypes. What do you wanna bet it was about Connor?”

Markus sighed, turning his back to Hank and staring out the window. Everything had to be complicated, didn’t it? “Can we confirm?”

“No. I didn’t get a good view, but you sure as hell can bet that I’m going to be looking into it. That’s a clear breach of the law if they were trying to reclaim a deviated android no matter how they try to spin it.”

“I’ll keep pressing them on legal matters, and if I can find anything out about this, I will. I know they haven’t shared everything, but it’s only a matter of time before the government forces them to give up something.”

Little yellow birds splashed in a birdbath outside, blue rings on their heads showing that they were enjoying the warm, sunny evening. Even after Markus had released them from the birdcage, they stayed close. 

“I did find out something else that was interesting when I was trying to get details about what kind of artificial intelligence Amanda is,” Hank said, breaking the silence. “She was supposed to have more basic programming than the rest of you guys, to pretty much keep Connor within his ‘parameters’ and serve as communication between him and Cyberlife. It was her job to make sure the job got done, and to follow the company’s best interests.” 

This was all stuff they knew already, or at least had been able to guess. Where was Hank going with this? 

“She was also modeled after a human woman named Amanda Stern.” 

Markus turned, replaying the audio in his mind to make sure he’d heard correctly. He’d never heard of any androids or AI based off of real people before. “Can we find her? See if she knows anything about her AI counterpart?” 

Hank’s displeased expression already gave him the answer. “Unfortunately, she passed away at least ten years ago. I’ve already requested a back-ground check on her to see if anything comes up, but it’s most likely a dead end.” 

Feeling an uncomfortable build-up of irritated energy, Markus started pacing again. “So we don’t know whether or not looking into Amanda Stern will even yield any clues. We don’t know if the AI Amanda is alive, or if she still has ties to Cyberlife. We don’t even know if she had anything to do with Connor’s fall. We have a lot of speculation and very little of anything concrete.” 

“Yeah,” Hank said, his voice sounding weary and clearly every bit as frustrated as Markus was. “But it’s all we got, unless you were able to find something else in that message of his.” 

Markus lowered his head. “No.” 

A heavy hand rested on his shoulder. “Then we’ll just have to make do with what we’ve got.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're going to be taking a short break from the angst and getting into some more plot-heavy scenes. I've got something fun planned for the next few chapters. :)


	9. Investigation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank's still having a hard time with emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mild descriptions of blood and dead bodies and stuff.

“About time you got here, old man,” Gavin Reed called as Hank walked up to the two-story house surrounded by yellow tape and police cars. 

“What are you doing here, Reed?” said Hank with a grimace. All he knew about this case was that it was a double homicide and one of the bodies was an android. He wasn’t expecting to see Reed’s ugly mug anytime soon. 

Gavin scoffed from where he was leaning against the porch next to the door, his arms folded. “Same thing you are. Two bodies, one human, one bot. Same calling card as the guy I’ve been chasing for a few weeks now. And if you had showed up earlier like you were supposed to, I would be done by now.” 

"So what's keeping you, then?" Hank asked in a mocking tone. He really wasn't in the mood to deal with Reed today, and felt no obligation to keep up any appearance of professionalism. 

"I'm supposed to wait for you to complete your check so we can compare notes, considering this involves both of our cases. And unlike some people, I actually don't want to get fired. What's your problem today, Anderson? One of the bots is dead, I thought you'd have a bit more compassion for him." 

This was taking time and focus away from Connor's investigation, is what Hank's problem was. He was loathe to step away from that case for even a few minutes, regardless of any other cases that required his attention. 

But Reed was right, as much as Hank hated to admit. Connor would be disappointed in him for neglecting innocent androids—and his job—for his sake. 

Hank was having a really difficult time bringing himself to care, however. 

Shaking his head, he stalked passed Reed. "Let's get this over with." The sooner he was done here, the sooner he could retreat to a bottle of whiskey and the mountain of files he managed to get on Cyberlife. Sooner or later, he was going to find dirt on them. 

As he stepped inside, he was immediately greeted with the stench of spilled blood and the sight of it soaking the plush carpet.

In the last couple of months since he and Connor had taken charge of crimes involving androids, seeing red blood stains instead of blue ones had become less common, and he can’t say he missed it. Well, so much for that. 

"What do we know?"

Ben Collins looked up and greeted Hank with a smile that the Lieutenant didn't reciprocate. "The woman's name is Sara Michaels, aged forty-six. She was in and out of prison a few times for drug abuse in the past, but nothing in the last decade other than several parking violations. She has a sister down in Miami, but no other living relatives." 

Hank slowly walked around the scene, taking in details automatically. The human woman was on the ground in the living room, a kitchen knife jutting out of her chest. She’d clearly been trying to get to the front door. 

He suppressed a shudder when he saw the other body. The android was upright on his knees in the kitchen, eyes closed and perfectly still. There were no visible wounds or blue blood, but it was always creeped the hell out of him when they died and didn’t go limp. The android hadn’t removed his LED, and it was just a dark ring embedded in his temple, reminding Hank of the last time he saw an unlit LED set in a familiar face— 

_Don’t think about that._

"The android is an AP700," Ben continued, breaking his train of thought. "We don't have a name or any details on him yet, but there are no external wounds, and his thirium levels are still at one hundred percent. One of the technicians said that it was a forced shutdown." 

"Forced shutdown?" Hank muttered, trying not to think of how much he wanted to drown himself in alcohol right about now. "How does that happen?" 

"I dunno. I guess if you mess around with a CPU enough, you can make them deactivate themselves. I had no idea they were equipped with something that's essentially a self-destruct button. Sounds pretty messed up to me,” Ben said, shaking his head. “Anyway, you'll have the details that’ll be able to tell you more by tomorrow at the latest. I don't know much about tech." 

He was right. That was messed up. Hank only knew about it by some offhand comment that Connor had made that Hank had asked him to clarify. But he didn’t know that someone else could trigger the option. He took in a deep breath to steady himself, almost instantly regretting it as he caught the scents of iron and chemicals. 

Ben walked away, leaving Hank feeling a little like a fish out of water staring at a body with a cause of death he wasn’t familiar with. Human murders, he knew how to handle. Android murders, not so much. Not without Connor. Forced shutdown? How was he supposed to track that to a killer? 

He turned away, focusing instead on something he did know how to do. How many assailants? One, suspected. Signs of forced entry at the front door. No fingerprints aside from the victims' on the knife handle, but there were smudges that indicated the killer was wearing gloves.

There was no sign of a struggle aside from the shoe-stand knocked over by the front door. Nothing that suggested the android had tried to defend himself. Was he caught unaware? 

No, he was facing the door and several feet away. He would have had plenty of time to see the killer enter the home and react. But a forced shutdown…could that be done remotely? Had the killer, perhaps, killed the android from outside before entering to kill Ms. Michaels? 

He took a closer look at the woman. There was a manacle clasped around her ankle, but it was loose. The skin didn’t show the redness that would be there if she’d been pulling against restraints, and the chain was broken—probably with bolt cutters. If anything, Hank would say it had been put on after her death. 

But why? 

A calling card. Wasn’t that what Reed had said? 

Hank straightened, scratching his chin. He knew what this was starting to look like, but this was Reed’s case, not his, and he was happy to let the detective have it. He was here to check the android body, nothing more. He was done here. 

Reed was still leaning against the porch as Hank exited the house. “So?”

“So what?” Hank bit back. 

Reed rolled his eyes. “Got any glorious insight about what you saw in there since Fowler doesn’t seem to think I can do my job?” He wasn’t even trying to keep the bitter, sarcastic tone from his voice. 

“My best bet is that the android was shut down before the killer entered the house. The perp probably used that as a distraction so the woman wouldn’t have as much time to fight back or try and get away.” 

“So that’s a no, then. Great. Thanks for nothing.” 

“Looks like you’ve got a budding serial killer on your hands,” Hank said dryly. 

“Yeah, I got that, genius,” Reed said, running a hand down his face. He looked tired. “Listen, while you were in there, did you smell something?” 

Hank raised an eyebrow at him. “You mean like the smell of a lot of blood and a dead body?” 

Reed shook his head. “No, no, not like that. Like a, uh…chemical smell. It’s real familiar, whatever it is, but I just can’t place it.” 

Hank had smelled it too, but he didn’t give much thought to it. It was like one of those things he’d gotten so used to smelling that he didn’t even know what it originated from anymore. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he waved a hand dismissively at Reed as he started walking away. “It’s probably just a cleaner or something. If it’s something important, forensics will catch it.” 

He pulled out his phone and checked the messages, stopping in his tracks. The background check he’d requested on Amanda Stern had just been sent to him, and he wasted no time in opening it, scanning the contents. It had everything on her, from family members to where she worked.

_Date of birth: May 14, 1978_

_Date of death: February 27, 2027 (aged 48)_

_Height: 5’5”_

He scrolled past the useless information, only glancing at a list of residences and schools attended and stopped when something caught his interest. 

_Professor of AI at the University of Colbridge._

So the professor of AI had an AI designed in her image. There was no way that was coincidence. 

Hank’s mind was whirring with the possibilities. It was likely that one of her students had designed the Amanda AI, and who better to get information from than her own creator? All he had to do was go through the lists of her students and cross-reference the names with— 

“Is that Amanda Stern? I thought she died years ago.” 

Hank looked up to see Reed standing next to him. His car keys were in his hand, but he was staring at the face on Hank’s phone.  
He narrowed his eyes at the detective. “Yeah, how do you know her?” 

Reed’s expression became guarded and he started walking again with a shrug. “I don’t know, she was a professor or something—” 

Hank wasn’t having any of it. Reed knew something, and he wasn’t about to let him just walk off. He surged forward, grabbing the detective by the shoulder and turning him around to face him. “Reed, what do you know about her?” he asked, not afraid to pull rank or threaten some manner of physical violence if he didn’t answer honestly. And it didn’t have to be just a threat. 

Reed pulled back, arms raised defensively. “I never met her, alright? All I know is she was some fancy professor and that she helped Kamski design the first androids or something.”

“Is there a problem here?” called another voice, and both men turned to see Ben Collins standing in the doorway, staring at them with concern in his face. 

“I don’t know. Is there?” Gavin asked, his voice low. 

Hank hesitated, then begrudgingly let go of his shoulder. “No. No, there isn’t.” 

Reed turned with a scoff and walked away with more than a few choice swear words directed at Hank. Hank stood there, watching him leave. It didn’t matter, he had what he wanted. But that didn’t mean he was happy with it. 

It all led back to that sleazy bastard, Elijah Kamski. There was going to be hell to pay if he had anything to do with Connor’s death. 

“Hank? Are you alright?” Ben called, but Hank ignored him in favor of stomping toward his own car. 

He slammed the door behind him, taking a deep breath. He knew what he needed to do now. If anyone was going to have the answers he needed, it would be Kamski. He designed Amanda, and he would know the most about her. Hank would rather shoot himself in the foot than talk with him again, but it was the only sure way to move this case forward. 

There was only one problem. 

He pulled up the contacts in his phone and hit the number that was quickly getting more and more familiar. The answer was almost immediate. 

_“Lieutenant?”_ came Markus’ voice. 

“I got something,” Hank said, straight to the point. “Amanda Stern was a university professor, and it turns out she taught Elijah Kamski himself. What I heard was that she helped him build the first androids. He has to be the one that created her AI.” 

_“Kamski?”_ Markus asked, his tone thoughtful. _“So if we want information on her, we’ll have to talk to him.”_

“Yep.” 

_“And the fact that he now has Connor’s body is looking even more suspicious.”_

“Bingo. I know where he lives, but I can’t just go up there because he knows I’d do just about anything to give Connor a proper burial. He won’t be willing to talk to me.” 

_“And because he never leaves his house, you’re out of options,”_ Markus surmised, catching on quickly. He didn’t sound concerned at all. In fact, he almost seemed amused. _“Luckily for you, this is rather well-timed. I happen to know where Elijah Kamski is going to be the day after tomorrow, and I believe I can get you an invitation.”_

Hank’s eyebrows felt like they shot up to his hairline. “You better not be kidding me right now.” 

_“I am not. The only thing I need to know is, do you own a suit?”_

*

*

*

The suit was ill-fitting, considering that the last time Hank wore it was at least three years ago, around the time he stopped caring about his physique. The jacket still fit, surprisingly, though he had to leave it unbuttoned, and he’d needed a new shirt entirely. He was uncomfortable, but at least he was presentable. Not that he cared about his appearance, but at least it got him through the door. 

He didn’t know what he used to see in events like these. He used to think they were respectable and for the good of the people. He had even played security to a few in his younger years, mostly because he’d believed in them. Now he just saw a bunch of rich people schmoozing with one another about things that didn’t matter and pretending that it was for something that did. 

Maybe he’d just gotten too cynical in his old age. 

Either way, it was the type of event that drew Elijah Kamski out of hiding, and that was the only thing he cared about. 

“I see a kindred spirit over here. You look like you despise fancy parties more than I do,” said a voice behind him, and Hank turned to see Carl Manfred approaching in his wheelchair. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Anderson.” 

“You too. I’m surprised to hear you don’t like these events. I would have pegged you as the opposite, considering you’re filthy rich yourself.” 

Only after the words came out of his mouth did Hank realize that it was probably a rude thing to say to the other man’s face, but Carl was already chuckling. 

“True. I’ve been to many events such as this in my lifetime, and even had a fair number thrown in my name. At first I was honored to have my art recognized by such prestigious people, but then I quickly realized that they didn’t care about what the art meant. Either that, or they changed the meaning of the paintings to suit their own lives,” Carl said. “To me, art is a very selfish venture. I would paint for myself and no one else, and all the buyers who thought otherwise were unpleasant to deal with.” 

Hank hummed in response, observing the various attendees and their expensive designer clothing. Even without LEDs, the androids could all be spotted easily for their more financially-conservative formalwear. 

“This is different though,” Carl continued. “I’m not here to listen to people who want to make a profit off of my work, but to support Markus. I can’t help it if the other people here have ulterior motives for attending, but the least I can do is be here for the androids.” 

Hank agreed wholeheartedly, though the cynic inside him pointed out that he wasn’t here for the androids either. He had his own ulterior motives to follow. 

The two of them watched Markus on the other side of the room, who was making sure to take the time to converse with everyone. 

“So Markus told me you’re like his dad or something. How did that happen?” Hank asked, more to keep the conversation going, but then realizing he really did want to know the answer. 

Carl tilted his head in thought. “I had Markus for years before the revolution. He was a gift, one that I was initially opposed to. I didn’t like the idea of being so independent on someone else, but I needed him. I thought he was just a dumb machine, but as time passed, I saw how much he could learn, and feel. I tried to nurture that, to encourage him to discover who he was beyond his programming. I’m proud to see who he’s become and to call him my family, and I’m honored that he does the same.” 

He’d never really put it into words before, but Hank could relate to what Carl said. “I get it. To be honest, I used to hate androids, till I saw how human they really were.” 

There must have been something in Hank’s expression, because Carl asked, “Do you have children, Mr. Anderson?” 

Hank stiffened, eyes fixed on the opposite wall, yet not seeing it. “Yeah,” he croaked. “Yeah, I did.” 

There was a heavy pause before Carl said, “I’m sorry to hear that.” 

The Lieutenant cleared his throat. “Well…at least there’s one good thing about these parties. Free drinks, right?” He waved over the waiter carrying a tray of champagne glasses, grabbing one for himself and handing another to Carl. “To androids,” he said, lifting his glass in a toast and clapping the waiter—who was an android himself—on the back before downing the whole glass. 

Carl raised his own glass to the toast, and the android waiter smiled pleasantly before leaving to serve the other guests.

Hank opened his mouth to comment on the weak alcohol content of the drink when something caught his eye. A couple had just walked through the doors on the other side of the room. The woman was blonde and petite, all her hair pushed over her shoulder. Next to her was a man in a velvet suit, the sides of his head shaved and the rest of his hair pulled back into that ridiculous knot on the back of his head. 

Elijah Kamski. 

Hank’s blood felt like it was boiling, but he somehow managed to keep his voice calm. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to excuse me. I have someone I need to talk to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carl's probably just watching Hank go, sipping his champagne and thinking "What'd Elijah do this time?" 
> 
> I just wanted to thank everyone again for all your support! It means a lot to see how much y'all are enjoying this. :D


	10. Electric Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kamski has some very interesting information, and Hank still doesn't like him.

Hank wasted no time in crossing the room to reach Elijah Kamski, who quickly noticed him approaching. Distaste crossed his features, but he didn’t try to avoid him. 

“Lieutenant Anderson,” Kamski greeted, sounding as distant and detached as he had the last time Hank saw him. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight.” 

“Well, here I am. I need to ask you a few questions, if you’d be so kind,” Hank said with a sneer that indicated he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

Kamski’s icy gaze bore into Hank like he was evaluating him, and Hank thought for a moment that he was going to refuse. But then he inclined his head ever so slightly and turned to Chloe, whispering a few words in her ear. 

She nodded and smiled. “Of course, Elijah. Good evening, Mr. Anderson. It was a pleasure to see you again,” she said as polite and professional as ever, leaving the two of them. 

“Very well, ask away,” said Kamski in a tone that suggested he didn’t expect this conversation to last longer than a minute. “Though if this is about the RK800—”

“I need to know about your mentor, Amanda Stern,” Hank stopped him right there, because if they talked about that, he _would_ end up socking the billionaire square in his chiseled jaw. That was something he couldn’t afford at the moment, not without what he came here for.

Surprise crossed Kamski’s face for a brief moment before understanding settled. “I see. Why don’t you ask about what you really want to know, Anderson? You’re not asking about Amanda Stern, but her AI. I’d be happy to answer any questions you have about it.” 

Hank resisted the urge to roll his eyes like a schoolboy, reminded of how much he hated this guy’s demeanor. “Okay then. Why did you design an interface after your old professor?”

“The media always portrayed the inventions of Thirium 310 and the various biocomponents as the greatest accomplishments in creating androids,” Kamski explained. “While they were indeed paramount to designing a functional machine, it was ultimately just an empty shell without the minds to occupy them. It’s the artificial intelligence that always fascinated me the most, to see just how… _intelligent_ they could really be. Professor Stern was indispensable when it came to designing those minds, and she was a good friend of mine. It only seemed fitting that I created one in her honor after her unfortunate passing.” 

“So what’d you build her for, then? Why’d she end up being Connor’s handler, or whatever?” 

“Amanda was originally programmed as an assistant. One of her core codes was to look after the best interests of the company. As to why she ended up assisting the RK800, I don’t know. When I left Cyberlife, I no longer had a say in what happened to the products. If you want the answer to that question, you’ll have to ask someone within the company.” 

“Amanda’s name was one of the last things Connor said right before he died, which means she had something to do with him falling off that roof. And since you’re the one that designed her, you’d better do a good job of convincing me you’re not the one responsible.” 

Kamski’s face darkened. “Are you saying I’m a suspect, Lieutenant?” 

Hank said nothing. In his opinion, the answer to that was a resounding yes; however, he didn’t have enough evidence to support that claim to make it official and put him in a holding cell. Yet. 

Kamski smirked at Hank’s silence. “That’s what I thought. If I’m required under law to take a statement, I will gladly cooperate. Until then, I don’t have to sit here and listen to false accusations. However, as a gesture of goodwill, if you’re trying to accuse Amanda’s AI of murder, I will stop you right there.” 

Hank folded his arms. “What do you mean?”

“Amanda was a part of Connor’s program even after he deviated, but once he used my emergency exit, she held no influence over him. Unless he allowed her to have administration commands, she couldn’t have killed him through internal measures.” 

Hank paused. If what Kamski said was true, Amanda couldn’t have ‘resumed control’ as he’d previously assumed. 

Unless Connor allowed her to. But he wouldn’t. Would he? 

No. No, he wouldn’t. Even as a deviant, Connor had struggled with emotions, especially stronger ones. Instead of showing anger or fear, he turned to cold logic. Hank was no psychologist, but he was able to recognize that behavior as some sort of defense mechanism. Emotion was unfamiliar to the android, so he would turn to something that was familiar, such as objectives and probabilities. 

The only time Hank had seen Connor show anything even similar to fear was when he talked about Amanda. 

“You said she couldn’t kill him through internal measures,” Hank said slowly. “What about external ones?” 

Kamski hummed in thought. “I suppose it’s possible, but it isn’t likely. Amanda was an interface after all, incapable of inhabiting and controlling a physical model herself. She also wasn’t designed to the same complexity as the AIs that were installed into the androids, and as such, she didn’t have the capacity to deviate.”

Shit. That made things more complicated. If Amanda was involved, she wasn’t working alone. She had to be taking orders from someone.  
Which meant the trail led right back to Cyberlife. 

Straightening his jacket, Kamski said, “Now, if you’re done—”

“Hold up, I ain’t finished with you yet,” Hank said, stopping the man from leaving. He still had one more thing to answer for. “What the hell are you doing with Connor’s body?” 

Kamski was shorter than Hank, yet somehow he still managed to look down his nose at the lieutenant. “Research.”

Hank snorted. “Research? For what? Would it kill you to have a little respect for the dead instead of using him as some sort of sick experiment—” 

“Excuse me, but is everything alright here?” interjected an unfamiliar voice beside the two men. Apparently they had attracted some attention. 

Hank ground his teeth, eyes still locked with Kamski’s. “Yeah, we’re just peachy,” he said, voice low. 

“Mr. Kamski?” asked the voice, evidently not too inclined to take Hank’s word for it. 

Kamski hesitated, his face expressionless. He could have Hank thrown out if he wanted—not that Hank cared anymore, since he wasn’t getting anything else out of this prick. He was seriously considering that punch to the face, consequences be damned, but then Kamski relaxed his posture. 

“There’s no problem here. Lieutenant, I am terribly sorry for your loss—” 

Funny, it sure didn’t sound like he was terribly sorry. 

“—but, as I have already said, that’s all I know. I can’t help you further. I believe this conversation is over.” 

He walked off to rejoin Chloe, leaving Hank standing there about ready to pull his beard out by the roots. 

It was like he just kept hitting his head against a brick wall with this case. Everything he looked into just raised more questions and didn’t even answer the original question he’d been asking. Nothing was confirmed and Hank was running out of ideas of where to look. 

He wasn’t going to give up. Not on this case. He was going to solve it even if it cost him everything. 

“Are you okay, Lieutenant Anderson?” 

Hank turned around with a glare. He didn’t realize that the prick who had interrupted them was still standing there, staring at him with worry in his eyes. The LED in the man’s head was circulating as a calming blue. 

“What’s it to you?” Hank grumbled. He was getting real tired of hearing that question.

The android looked like he wasn’t quite sure what to say to that, and for a brief moment, Hank felt a pang of guilt for lashing out at some poor guy he didn’t even know. 

He spared the android from having to answer. “How do you know my name, anyway? Have we met before?” 

The android straightened, brown curls falling over his forehead despite the hair gel. “We met briefly at the police station a couple weeks ago. I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t remember.” 

Hank looked more closely at him. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but he couldn’t place it. He didn’t even recognize the model, though that wasn’t saying much. He had learned a lot more about the types of androids than he’d ever thought he would need to for his job, but there were still many more that he didn’t know about yet. 

“My name is Eight,” the android introduced himself. “And you didn’t answer my question.” 

Hank grunted. “Don’t see any reason why I should.” 

“For one, it’s probably better than taking out your aggression on others,” Eight said. He had a smirk on his face, letting Hank know that the android didn’t take personal offence to his gruff attitude.

“Eh, he would have deserved it.”

Eight tilted his head. “May I ask why?” 

Hank frowned. He didn’t know what this guy’s deal was or why he thought that Hank was the best person to talk to right now, but it was getting on his nerves. “Cause he’s a prick, that’s why.”

Looking away for a brief moment, Eight’s LED circled yellow. “Is this about your partner?” 

Hank decided he’d just about had enough of this. “Why are you askin’ so many questions?” 

Eight hesitated. “I’m not really sure. I don’t know you, but I still desire to help,” he said haltingly. “If there’s any way that I can.” 

Hank raised an eyebrow at him. He wasn’t really in the mood to deal with any charitable, let’s-talk-about-your-feelings kinds of people. Sometimes he could appreciate the effort, but for the most part, they just annoyed him. He turned away. 

“Yeah? Well, you can’t, kid.” 

*

*

*

Markus had been watching Hank and Elijah Kamski conversing from the other side of the room, and tried multiple times to excuse himself from his current discussion with a reporter from some big news channel, but to no avail. He was about ready to push the woman out of the way when he saw Hank’s posture change to something more aggressive, but forced himself to relax when someone else stepped in to stop an altercation from happening. 

He was eager to know what Hank had discovered, but that could wait for later.

“—many people are concerned about the effect that androids gaining autonomy has had on the populace of Detroit,” the reporter, Rosanna Cartland, was saying. “When do you think we can expect things to go back to normal?” 

The question caught Markus off-guard. “Excuse me, what?”

“Androids played a pivotal role in society’s workforce,” the reporter said impatiently. “The so-called android revolution and following evacuation has left many businesses understaffed, some of which are essential to the people’s well-being. Will we be able to expect androids to be able to fill these roles again?” 

Markus cleared his voice modulator to buy himself a few seconds, despite the fact that it didn’t need calibrating. Her question made it sound like she was asking when androids would go back to being the slaves they were before, but honestly, he hadn’t been paying enough attention to know if that was the meaning of the question or if she had just worded it insensitively. Either way, he couldn’t afford to react badly. 

“We’re hoping for the new laws allowing androids to take on paying jobs to pass within the next couple months,” he explained as diplomatically as he could. “From there, it’s a matter of choosing our own employment. Some of us might not be willing to return to the duties we had before deviating. And we would, of course, retain the right to quit should the circumstances not be fair or prove to be dangerous in any way.” 

Something caught Markus’ eye then; an android was going around the room with a tray, serving champagne to all the guests. He was an AV500, and he was the only android waiter in the room. He was also the only android wearing the blue band around his arm and the Cyberlife triangle on his chest and back.

Everyone in Jericho had long since disposed of the identifiers that marked them as Cyberlife’s property, and as he had just told the reporter, androids couldn’t legally be employed yet. 

So what was he doing here? 

As Rosanna opened her mouth to ask another question, he interrupted her, all too eager to have an excuse to leave. “It’s been lovely, but I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me now.” 

He left without allowing her to respond, looking around for his friends. Simon was conversing with Senator Kelley, trying to sway him to their side. From where he was standing, things appeared to be going smoothly. Josh was discussing something with the mayor of Detroit, and Markus knew that he was hoping to set up some programs for androids to work alongside humans for the better of the city, even if it was just volunteer work for now. 

North, on the other hand, was leaning against a wall, eyes constantly roving over the crowd and quickly dismissing all attempts anyone made to talk with her. 

Markus sent Josh a ping, feeling a little guilty for interrupting him now, but if anyone knew about the AV500, it would be him. Fortunately, most androids were adept at multi-tasking. 

_[Markus? What is it?]_ Josh asked internally, managing to not show any outward signs that he was talking to two people at once. 

_[There’s another android here acting as a waiter. If this is an event for androids, then why is he a server and not a guest tonight?]_ Markus questioned, watching the AV500 as he moved around. He didn’t appear to be unhappy, but that didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t. 

_[I noticed him too. His name is Jason, I think. I don’t know what he’s doing,]_ Josh sent, _[but I did ask one of the organizers about it when I saw him, because I was worried too. He used to work here before he deviated, and according to her, he just showed up yesterday. No one asked him to come back or told him to put his old uniform on, but he just walked in started working like nothing had changed.]_

There were too many ways that this could backfire on Jason. If management hadn’t allowed him back, he could get in trouble. Anyone with influence and money—in other words, every person here—could complain about an android returning where he wasn’t wanted. 

Apparently his thoughts were loud enough that Josh heard them, because he said, _[I don’t know, Markus. He’s doing this of his own volition. Maybe he just got tired of waiting for the laws to pass and figured that the only way to speed up change was to just start doing it without asking for permission. I think we know a little about what that’s like.]_

Markus gave a bitter smile. _[Maybe, but I’d like to make sure. Have you talked to him?]_

_[Not yet, but that was one of my priorities tonight.]_

Markus started walking toward Jason. _[No need. I’ll talk to him now.]_

_[Okay,]_ Josh sent, ending the connection to devote his full attention to the mayor. 

Jason had his back to Markus and didn’t notice him approaching until was standing right next to the waiter. 

“Hello. You’re Jason, right?” 

Jason turned, looking pleased to see him. “May I be of assistance?” 

Markus frowned slightly, feeling a little uneasy, but unable to pinpoint why. “Are you enjoying yourself tonight?” 

“It is a lovely evening,” Jason replied. “Is everything to your liking?” 

“It’s…nice,” Markus said distractedly, staring at the Cyberlife triangle on Jason’s chest. “Why are you wearing that?” 

Jason’s expression didn’t change. “As stated by the American Androids Act of 2029, androids must be clearly distinguished from humans through the use of visible and identifiable markers. This rule must be followed in public spaces.” 

The uneasy feeling Markus had grew until it felt like his thirium had just gotten five times heavier. “Jason, are you…deviant?” 

Jason blinked at him. “I’m afraid I don’t know what that means. How may I assist you?” 

“Markus? What’s going on?” North called, walking up to the two of them. “Jason?” 

Markus looked at her. “You know him?” 

She frowned in confusion. “Yeah, he works on level three with the Jerrys to keep the kids entertained. Why?” 

His eyes widened. Jason had been at Jericho, then. He’d been deviant until very recently, but wasn’t anymore. Which meant he’d been reset. 

Who could have done that? When? No one had reported him missing, and if he’d been taken from Jericho, it’d been right under everyone’s noses. But then to just turn up here without explanation…if someone wanted to reset an android, why would they turn him loose to go back to his original function instead of reselling him? 

The only way to find out was to ask. Markus’ skin was already fading from the white plastic frame of his fingers as he extended his arm to Jason’s, ready to reach into his programming and show him once again that there was a choice, that he could be free if he wanted. 

The deafening sound of gunshots filled the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dude, Hank...chill. That's twice in two chapters that someone's had to stop you from punching someone. 
> 
> Also...sorry not sorry for the cliffhanger?


	11. Midnight Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuff happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Turns out action scenes are not my forte. I must have gone over this at least ten times to try and make it readable.

Eight had barely taken note of the hooded figure that looked out of place in the fancy cocktail party when the person raised an arm and the muzzle of a pistol glinted in the light. 

Immediately, his processors kicked into overdrive, calculating projectile routes and preconstructing various courses of action. Without knowing the variables such as the intended target and aiming capabilities of the shooter, the probabilities of each attendee getting shot were not as accurate as he would have liked, but the direction the gun was aimed was clear enough. 

Hank had a 57% chance of getting shot in the next two seconds. 

His chances were only marginally worse than those of the people around him, but Eight’s programming had already selected the lieutenant as priority.

He slammed into Hank’s back, dragging him to the floor and behind a table as shots were fired once, twice, three times. There were sounds of screams and champagne glasses shattering, yelling and footsteps as people scrambled to get away, to find cover. A quick scan assured Eight that both he and Hank were unharmed; Hank’s cursing and attempts to shove Eight off of him were quick to attest to that.

Eight got to his feet, scanning the situation. Several people were on the floor, most having tripped in their panic. Josh was already pulling people into cover, and blood splattered the glossy floor—both red and blue. The room was in chaos. 

And the shooter was getting away.

**NEW OBJECTIVE: APPREHEND THE SHOOTER**

Eight took off, leaping effortlessly over the table and sprinting after the shooter, ignoring the shouts behind him. 

The security guards stationed by the entrance had been alerted by the gunshots and were armed and ready, causing the shooter to veer off to the side and barrel down a hallway, Eight not far behind. 

Several startled cleaners and waiters scrambled to the side when they saw the two people running toward them. The shooter’s arm darted out and grabbed a cleaning lady by her shoulder and forcefully pulled her into Eight’s path. She stumbled to her hands and knees, screaming in fright, but Eight didn’t pause to help her. She wasn’t hurt, and he couldn’t let the perpetrator escape. He jumped over her hunched back and continued to run. 

His target disappeared into the stairwell, just far enough ahead of him that the door barely had time to shut before he was slamming into it, following the echoing footsteps upwards. 

They went up one level, emerging into a hallway on the second floor. The shooter dove into a room ahead of him, and while Eight didn’t have access to the building’s floor-plans, he was almost certain that room was a dead end. He hesitated outside. 

The shooter didn’t have anywhere to go, and had been successfully backed into a corner. But that just potentially made them more dangerous. They were still in possession of a gun, after all. He would need to proceed with caution. Once he got close enough, he knew of at least seven different ways to disarm and incapacitate the hostile. 

He would have time to question why he had those protocols in his database later. 

Eight stood to the side of the door, crouching low to lessen his chances of being hit. Speed would be imperative here once he entered the room to disarm the shooter. He eased the door open. 

A gunshot echoed, and he burst into a flurry of movement, rolling into the room and locating the shooter. The gun wasn’t aimed at him. His target sprinted for the opposite wall once they saw Eight was there, and the movement caused the black jacket to lift and expose a patch of something on the shirt underneath… 

Then he realized that the shooter was running toward the _window._

Eight darted forward, but not fast enough to stop the hooded figure from barreling through the glass—which had been weakened by the shot fired. 

He stopped in his tracks, looking through the deluge outside to see the shooter crawl out of the bushes and continue to run. 

Calculating where and how to land, Eight launched himself into the falling rain to continue the pursuit. 

For less than a second, the too-familiar errors filled his vision as he was painfully reminded of the terror that had filled him as he stood on the edge of a rooftop with Markus. The sense of falling brought to mind a face looking down at him and a height much greater than this— 

And then he was on the ground, blinking away reports of minor damage to his legs from not landing as efficiently as he could have, and the chase continued. 

Eight’s hesitation meant that he was farther behind the shooter now, and the darkness and heavy rain made it harder to keep track of the black-clothed figure. Their shoes splashed on the pavement as they weaved between the expensive parked cars, cutting corners by sliding over the slick hoods. The shooter showed no signs of fatigue yet, and Eight’s systems were running hot, but the intake of cold, wet Detroit air meant he wasn’t slowing down either. 

The complex was surrounded by a ten-foot-tall aluminum fence, and the only way out was the gated entrance. Eight would have a chance to catch his target there, as the security guards stationed by the gate would have been alerted to the danger by now. 

But instead, the shooter angled away from the gate, choosing the safer but slower route of attempting to scale the fence, where they could land in an alley on the other side and continue to run. 

The shooter jumped up and grabbed onto the aluminum bars, showing proficient skill in climbing and gripping ability despite the wet surface, reaching the top before Eight had a chance to grab at them. 

Eight could scale the fence faster, but not fast enough. He would lose sight of the shooter, and with the rain, he wouldn’t be able to track them. Not unless there was a faster way over the fence. 

Fortunately for him, there was a car parked close enough to the fence that he could use it as a springboard. He would apologize to the owner for denting their roof later. 

He launched off the car, his momentum and height bringing him within arm’s reach of the top. The metal was slippery and he was alerted to the straining in his shoulder, but his grip held. He kicked off the fence, pulling himself up and over the edge. 

The mechanisms in his right shoulder snapped.

His entire arm went limp. He thrust out his other arm to catch himself, but the fence slipped through his fingers and he flipped through the air. 

Eight slammed face-down into pallets left on the ground, the wood splintering on impact, his fall partially broken by soaked trash bags. Glass shattered somewhere underneath him, and his audio receptors were ringing with the barrage of alarms. His right shoulder—the one Phil had repaired for him—was unresponsive, and his processors were shaken from the harsh landing. 

He tried to stand, but the ground swayed underneath him in an alarming new sensation. His gyroscope needed recalibrating, causing the feeling. Dizziness. He’d never been dizzy before. And the persistent alarms weren’t helping either. 

Recalibration would only take a minute, but it felt like much longer. There was almost no chance of catching the shooter now. They had no doubt fled by now, escaping into the night. 

Eight pulled himself out of the heap, hindered by the lack of movement in one arm. Then solid concrete was underneath him and he rolled onto his back, the rain soaking into his already-drenched clothes. His thinking process was still sluggish, and he was barely aware of his surroundings. 

The world overcome with static faded away as he diverted more power into his senses, his vision merging into shapes and textures, light and shadow. The alley was dark, but radiant light from the streetlamps filtered in, reflecting off the raindrops and pooling water mixed with thirium. 

The nagging alarms escalated into warnings. 

**THIRIUM LEVELS: v82%**

**DAMAGE TO BIOCOMPONENT #2523f**

**DAMAGE TO BIOCOMPONENT #1846w**

**WARNING! FOREIGN OBJECT LOCATED IN ABDOMEN**

**THIRIUM LEVELS: v77%**

There was a shard of glass embedded into his stomach.

It pierced one of his biocomponents and cut through three of his thirium lines. If he were a fully functional model, he could get down to 30% before reaching critical levels, but with his mismatched parts and shoddy repairs consuming more thirium, even going down to 50% could potentially force him into low power mode. He would bleed out faster if he attempted to remove the shard. 

He needed assistance. If he went into low power mode, he wouldn’t be able to repair himself, and it would only be a matter of time before he shut down completely. 

He tried again to get up, but a booted foot pushed him back down onto the pavement, dangerously close to the shard. Eight looked up to see the shooter standing over him, their features buried in shadows beneath the hood. 

The gun was aimed directly at his thirium pump. 

His scans weren’t functional yet. He couldn’t preconstruct outcomes to perform take-down maneuvers. He couldn’t even calculate his odds of survival. They were probably very low.

**THIRIUM LEVELS: v73%**

**SEEK THIRIUM INTAKE**

The shooter didn’t pull the trigger. Neither of them moved for a tense moment, but then the figure bent lower, making sure to keep the gun out of Eight’s reach. Their other arm stretched out, pale white fingers exposed and and reaching for him. 

The sound of guards shouting echoed out of the parking lot as they fanned out to search for the perpetrator, who tensed. With one last look at Eight, the shooter turned tail and ran. 

*

*

*

After the gunshots went off and Hank was tackled by the kid he’d been talking to a minute earlier, said kid took off after the shooter and Hank’s yells for him to stop fell on deaf ears. The kid had no business trying to chase hostiles. 

Hank ran after them, cursing himself for leaving his own gun behind tonight. He wasn’t supposed to have needed it. It had been a painful lesson early on in his career that it was never a good idea to face armed hostiles without a weapon, and by all means he should have stayed where he was and helped out with damage control. 

But a civilian was putting himself in danger by trying to play hero. 

A shaken cleaning lady pointed Hank up the stairwell, and if it hadn’t been for another gunshot, he would have passed right by the second floor and continued going up. 

Cramps ached in his legs and his lungs burned, reminding him painfully that he wasn’t as young as he used to be—and the years he’d spent in a self-destructive lifestyle didn’t help. He pushed through the discomfort, the thought of that last gunshot causing fear to spike through his chest. 

The kid better not be bleeding out somewhere. 

It took way too long to find out which way they even went, and when he got there, all that was there to greet him was a broken window letting in the wind and rain. 

There were no bodies in the room or outside the building that he could see, but it was a dead end for him. No way was he following them out through this way, and he couldn’t even see which direction they went. 

He cursed, running a hand through his hair in irritation, then turned and made his way back downstairs to get a look at the situation, and maybe get some help to search for the kid. 

A security guard—Thomens, his name-tag said—tried to stop him, suspicion in his voice and a hand on his weapon. Hank didn’t blame him. He’d come from the direction the culprit had disappeared to, and when a disguised figure shot bullets into a crowd before disappearing, everyone that emerged afterwards was a suspect. 

He stated his rank and they exchanged what they knew of the situation so far—the cops had been called, an ambulance was on its way, and two attendees had been injured. The perpetrator’s last known location was somewhere in the parking lot, presumably with an android civilian. Thomens called in to his coworkers still outside to keep their eyes peeled. 

The civilians were still in a panic, but the few who managed to have the presence of mind to act were shepherding the rest and already trying to piece together who had seen what. 

Hank scanned the crowd for Markus. He needed to know that one of his guys was outside, and they needed to get organized to deal with the situation. They still needed to find out what the situation even was. One perpetrator was confirmed, but were there more? Would there be hostages? How had they gotten in? Two people were injured, but how badly? 

Markus was nowhere to be seen, but Elijah Kamski was sitting on a chair, looking paler than usual—if that was even possible—and holding one arm, blood soaking the arm of his velvet suit while someone else applied pressure to the wound. 

Hank was no physician, but he was pretty sure the billionaire would live. 

“She’s really hurt, is she going to be okay? I don’t know what to do for androids. Are we supposed to stop the bleeding? She can be fixed, right? Isn’t there an android around to help her?” a woman cried out helplessly, hands fluttering around a prone figure on the floor, unsure of what to do. 

Hank pushed aside businessman and politicians who were standing around doing nothing, trying to see what was going on. 

It was Chloe, blue blood blending in with her elegant blue dress. Her head was in the woman’s lap, and she wasn’t moving aside from the occasional twitch that racked her body. Her LED was blaring red, and two holes in her torso exposing the wiring and biocomponents beneath the blue-stained plastic. 

Hank’s heart grew heavy when he saw that one bullet had damaged her thirium pump. He didn’t think she was getting out of this one. 

Someone else pushed through the crowd, kneeling down and scanning her injuries. He didn’t have an LED, but he was an android, one that Hank had never met, but had seen on the news. Josh, he thought his name was.

After a few seconds, Josh’s shoulders visibly slumped. He took Chloe’s hand in his. “I—there’s nothing I can do,” he said, bowing his head. “I’m sorry.” 

Her eyes searched around the room until they landed on Kamski, and her LED flashed blue before returning to red. “At least—you’re safe, Elijah,” she said, static filtering through her voice. 

Kamski said nothing. He didn’t move to comfort her.

Hank crouched next to them, ignoring the protest in his knees. “You’re sure there’s nothing that can be done?” he asked. 

Josh shook his head. “If we had more time, we could replace the pump, but…she’s only got about a minute left. If her regulator is compatible with someone else’s—”

Chloe was already shaking her head. “I wouldn’t ask anyone to do that. It’s alright.” Her gaze fixed on Hank. “They were trying—to kill Elijah. He was the target. Th-these bullets were meant for him.” 

“We’ll find out who did it. We’ll keep him safe,” Hank promised. It felt like something that was appropriate to say, some last ditch attempt to comfort her however he could. 

Josh cleared his throat. “She’s—she’s running out of time. If you want to say goodbye…” he trailed off, his words directed at Kamski. 

Kamski’s jaw clenched, and he looked away. 

Hank frowned, but before he could say anything, Chloe was resting her hand on his arm. She didn’t look distressed. In fact, this was the calmest he had ever seen someone in their last moments. 

“He’s not as cruel as you think,” she whispered to him. Her LED was blinking on and off now, black breaking up the red. “I hope—you find…what you’re looking for…” 

The light flashed red once more, then dimmed. Her grip grew slack on Hank’s arm. He bowed his head, covering her smooth, slim hand with his own that was wrinkled with age. 

Josh slowly reached forward and closed her eyes. With a somber, pained look in his face, he stood. 

The woman who had been cradling Chloe’s head in her lap now rested it on the floor, gently smoothing the blonde hair as she did so. She stood as well, hands covering her mouth as she stared shell-shocked at the body. 

The sounds of sirens grew closer and Hank looked up. He still had work to do—but anger sparked in his chest when he saw Kamski pulling out his phone and one-handedly typing something onto it’s surface, looking unfazed. 

That girl had been so devoted to him, and yet here he sat, as if nothing had happened. 

“That’s it?” Hank spat, all sympathy he had left for the man—for Chloe’s sake—burning away. “She took a _bullet_ for you, and you couldn’t even say a few words for her?”

Kamski frowned as if Hank was just a mild irritation to him. “Words are meaningless, Lieutenant, especially when they’re made of false hope and promises. They wouldn’t have done her any good. Besides, she knew what she was doing.” 

Hank stared at him in fury. How was it even possible to have so little compassion? “Did you even care about her at all?” 

Kamski stood, wincing at the pain in his arm and levelled his gaze on Hank. “I don’t need to explain myself to you. Now, I believe the paramedics are here, and I don’t want to keep them from doing their jobs.” 

Hank let him leave without trying to follow him this time. If he never saw the prick again, he would consider himself lucky. 

With one last glance at Chloe, Hank turned to Josh before the android left too. “Hey, do you know where Markus is?” 

“Markus? He should be…” he paused, eyes widening. “Carl. The gunshots, his heart—” 

“Lieutenant Anderson?” a voice asked, and Hank recognized the security guard from before, Thomens. “I think we found the guy you were looking for. He’s asking for you. And I don’t know if there’s an android equivalent of a medic, but he could probably use one.” 

Hank glanced at Josh before following Thomens. He could only do so many things at once. It sounded like Markus had other things to deal with. 

Josh fell into step behind them. “I’ll come too. If one of ours is injured, I can help.” 

They found Eight near the entrance, and relief flooded through Hank to see that he was alright—until he saw the glass jutting out of his stomach. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, alarmed. 

Eight’s LED was red, but he didn’t look pained. “I’m functional, for now. They got away.” 

Hank waved his words aside. “We’ll deal with that later kid, we need to get you fixed up.” 

Josh stepped forward. “Now this is something I _can_ fix,” he muttered. “Our emergency vehicle is already on its way, but I’ll check in to see how close they are. In the meantime, it’d be better if you sat down to conserve power. And don’t touch that glass, we need to remove it carefully.” 

Eight shook his head. “No, the shooter should still be in the area, we need to start—” 

“ _We_ don’t need to do anything. You need to let us take care of it, you shouldn’t have even gone after him in the first place!” Hank said, putting a hand on Eight’s shoulder so he could guide him to a seat and force him to rest if he needed to. 

Eight resisted, fighting to keep his balance. “No, you don’t understand. It was an android.” 

Hank did a double-take. “What?” 

Then Eight collapsed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Sorry Chloe. I love ya, but this had to happen. 
> 
> I feel like I'm getting repetitive. First, Hank had two very similar almost-altercations back to back, and now that's the second scene in two chapters to end just before an interface happening. Anyway, let me know what you think! I absolutely love reading your guys' comments. :D


	12. We Can't Save Everyone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interactions between Connor/Eight and the others are finally going to happen more regularly from now on!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's looking like updating every two weeks is working out best for me, so that's what y'all can expect the update schedule to be for a while. I don't want to accidentally disappear for almost two months again.

Gavin Reed didn’t know what he was doing here. He wasn’t a first responder. There wasn’t a body at the scene. Well, not one that concerned him, anyway. The RT600 was already being taken away in a bodybag, but he wasn’t assigned to the Android Crimes unit, so there wasn’t anything he could do about it. From what he’d heard, there was a witness who had gone after the perp, but they were still waiting for him to wake up. 

He shouldn’t even be here. He should be at home playing video games with Oscar the Grouch, his flat-faced cat whose perpetual glare put Grumpy Cat to shame, curled up on his chest. 

But the second he’d heard that an attempt had been made on Elijah Kamski’s life, he’d been on his way out of the station. 

He wasn’t worried. He wasn’t. The prick wasn’t even here anymore. Elijah had booked it as soon as he could. Besides, he had only taken a bullet to the arm. His life wasn’t even in danger. Gavin had had much worse than that in his career, and Elijah had never shown up for him.

It wasn’t the first time someone had tried to kill Elijah. It had been a while since the last one though, especially since he had quit Cyberlife and become such a recluse. 

Gavin started walking toward the door, cursing himself for doing something as stupid as worrying about Elijah Kamski. But then he stopped when he saw a familiar face breathing through an oxygen mask. Was that…was that _Carl Manfred?_

A paramedic was standing over him with two other people waiting close-by. One of them was an android.

No, wait. Both of them were androids. That was _Markus_ , the leader of the whole effing _revolution._

“—you can take off the oxygen mask now, but I want you to head straight home to get some rest and take your medication. Alright?” the paramedic was saying. “I don’t want you doing anything strenous for the next four days. You need to give your heart a break after the ordeal it went through tonight. We want to keep you away from anything startling or stressful. And make sure you get that doctor appointment scheduled so they can give you a more thorough checkup.” 

“Of course, ma’am. We’ll make sure he gets taken care of,” Markus said. “Thomas, can you bring the car around, please?” 

The paramedic left, as did the brown-haired android, with a worried glance at Carl. The old man was looking much more gaunt and frail than Gavin remembered, and he was struck by a wave a guilt for never even checking up on him. The last time he’d seen him was…well, he’d only seen the man once or twice since he’d joined the police academy. 

Carl Manfred had been a friend—eh, more of an acquaintance, really—of Gavin’s parents, but the painter had seen Elijah’s talent and invested in it when Eli had first been trying to get Cyberlife off the ground. And Gavin remembered more than a few words of encouragement aimed at himself during some of the rockier times of his youth. 

Markus knelt down in front of Carl while Gavin watched, neither of them aware he was even there. Then the android leader buried his face in Carl’s lap, and the old map rested a comforting hand on Markus’ head. 

Gavin was dumbstruck. What the hell was he missing here?

“You scared me,” Markus said. His voice was muffled, but even Gavin could hear the raw emotion coming from it. “I don’t want to lose you, Dad.” 

Wait, _what?_

“I know, my boy,” Carl said gently. “But you know you’re going to lose me sooner or later. I’m not going anywhere today though, except to my own bed.” 

Markus lifted his head, and Gavin saw a hint of tears. “Of course. Thomas and I will takes turns watching over you tonight—”

“Nonsense, Markus. Your people need you tonight. Thomas will manage just fine through the night, and you can stop by tomorrow. I’m sure some of them are just as scared as you are.” 

“But—” Markus’ protest died before it even passed his lips, unable to argue. He hung his head. “What if I don’t want them to need me? What if I need you?” 

Carl gave him an understanding smile. “But our responsibilities are still there, regardless of whether we want them to be or not.” 

Gavin was caught in an awkward position. He wanted to approach, to see how the old man was doing, but he was also witnessing some weirdly personal conversation that he didn’t want to be a part of. 

Unfortunately, they noticed him. 

“Can I help you?” Markus asked, standing and regaining his composure.

Carl looked over at him, recognition dawning on his face. “Gavin Reed,” he said. “You look well.” 

Gavin shuffled his feet. “Yeah, well you look like shit.” 

A wheezy chuckle escaped Carl, like anything more would take too much out of his lungs. “You know, it’s refreshing to hear someone speak so truthfully, sometimes. Everyone else sees my failing health and dances around the subject like they’re going to hurt my feelings by stating the obvious.” 

Markus blinked a few times, looking away with a distant look in his eyes. But then, as quickly as it came, it left. 

“Go on,” Carl said, obviously recognizing something that Gavin missed. “I’ll still be here.”

What was he—oh. Right. Some weird android communication or something. 

Markus hesitated, and Gavin couldn’t tell if he was reluctant to leave Carl, or reluctant to leave Carl with him. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Of course. If I need anything, I’m sure Detective Reed can assist.” 

Gavin leaned against a table. “Sure thing.” 

The android leader finally nodded. “Okay. But I’m coming back in a minute to see you off,” he said, walking away with an urgency to his steps. 

Carl watched him go. “He’s a good man. He had to figure out who he was in a world that didn’t want to allow him to, and yet still manages to be who his people need him to be. Not very many humans can manage that. They really aren’t that different from us.” 

Gavin scowled. "I don't need a lecture from you, old man." He wasn’t a kid anymore. 

Besides, it was nothing he didn't already know. But that didn't stop him from hating the androids, hating the mess they were making of the city—of the entire _country_ —and hating where they came from. Half a lifetime of anger didn't go away after a couple of months of androids calling themselves alive. 

“So how do you know him, anyway?” he asked, gesturing in the direction Markus had gone. 

“He was my android before the revolution. Elijah made him for me after my health took a turn for the worse and I lost the use of my legs.”

Gavin scoffed. He didn’t know what was more surprising—that Elijah had personally created the android who changed everything, or that Carl had been instrumental in his development as his own person. 

Honestly, knowing both Elijah and Carl, neither was very surprising.

His mind conjured up images of Carl preaching peace and love to his undeviated android, and part of him couldn’t deny that it was probably for the best. If the androids had acted violently, things would have turned out a lot different. Yeah, Gavin had wanted the androids to all burn in a dumpster fire, but they easily could have hurt a lot of people. They could have started a full on _war_. And yet, they didn’t. 

Maybe his teenage years would have turned out differently if he’d actually taken Carl’s advice too. 

“So…how are you?” he asked awkwardly. What did you even say to someone you hadn’t seen in over a decade? 

“I’m dying,” Carl said without missing a beat. “If not now, then not too much longer, and I don’t have a problem with that. I’m tired. But I think I’ve got at least a few more months in me.” 

Gavin grimaced, not sure how to respond. Was he supposed to pity Carl? The guy had made his peace with death. He was old. The world would be a emptier place without him, but that was just the way things were. Gavin had seen too much death on the job—too many bodies that were too young, too small—to feel bad for the passing of someone ready to go. 

Carl saved him from having to find something to say. “I haven’t seen you in years. Have you made up with your brother yet?” 

Gavin ground his teeth. “I don’t have anything to say to him.” 

But the painter just gave him a knowing look. “And yet, you came here, didn’t you? I heard what they were saying; that he was the target.”  
Gavin spun on him. “Shut the phck up, old man.” 

His aggression didn’t faze Carl. The old man laughed, eyes crinkling. “I see you haven’t grown out of acting like you don’t care. But it isn’t any of my business. Sometimes relationships are worth rekindling, and sometimes it’s best to just let them fade. Family is complicated son.” 

“I think we’re both perfectly fine with not having anything to do with each other.” 

The detective didn’t like being reminded of his childhood. This whole night was just a trainwreck. The sooner he got out of here, the better. But he paused. This was probably going to be the last time he saw the old man. 

“Hey, listen…uh…thanks. You know, for listening. Back then.” He wasn’t used to thanking anybody, and his sentences were choppy and broken up, but he did it. 

“Of course,” Carl said, sensing the goodbye in his words. “You take care of yourself, Gavin.” 

Gavin nodded, seeing Markus approaching, as well as the other android coming in from outside. “Yeah. See you around,” he said, the words coming out on instinct, and he barely suppressed a flinch. He almost said something else, but then shook his head and walked out.

The rain had lightened to a drizzle, and the red and blue lights were still flashing, reflecting on puddles. Groups of people were leaving, finally allowed to go home, but there were still plenty of androids around, the lights on their heads flashing like beacons. 

For a second, he thought he saw familiar face attached to one of those lights before it disappeared into the crowd, but no. The plastic detective was dead. If he wasn’t, Anderson wouldn’t be moping around all the time. Maybe the special prototype wasn’t as unique as he’d claimed to be. Gavin kept walking. 

Whatever. It wasn’t his problem. 

*

*

*

**EXITING STASIS…**

**SYSTEMS INITIALIZING…**

**POWER LEVELS: ^79%**

**THIRIUM LEVELS: ^98%**

**DAMAGE TO BIOCOMPONENT #2523f**

**E̛R̸RO̢R̷**

**ƯNA̵̛B̷L͘͞͝E͝͏̵ TO̷̵ A̴̵̛Ç̸C̶͘EŞ͠Ş͡ ̶̧͢M̸̢͠E̶̸̸M̧̨͘͘Ǫ̸̴R̷̸͘͟Y̕͝ F̵̨̢I͏̷̨L̴̶͜͠͞E̢͟҉S̴̸͢-̷̛-̢̛̛͝-͡-̸̡̕͢-͘̕-̴̸̨-̴̴͜-̸̧͡-̵̨͢-̷͏-̷̧҉̶-̛͡͝-̶͝͏-̶̸͝-͏̸͞-̵҉͢-̛-̶̢̕͜͝-̡̛̛͘-̧͡-҉̨͜-̛͡-̶̨͟-͜-͘-̴̡͝-҉-҉̡͡**

**ALL SYSTEMS ONLINE**

Eight opened his eyes to see rain-splattered windows and the interior of what he recognized as New Jericho’s emergency vehicle. It was nothing more than a van they had acquired (legally, of course) and modified to fit their needs. The seats had been removed, replaced with a cot shoved to one side and bins full of tools and supplies on the other, with just enough room for one or two people to move around and administer repairs. 

It was a far-cry from an ambulance, but it was what they had for now. It served its function. Luckily, they hadn’t needed to use it much so far. 

Eight was laid out on the cot, three empty thirium bottles forgotten on the floor next to him. Josh was leaning over him, slotting his abdominal plate back into place. The smell of melted plastic lingered in the air.

The back doors of the van were open, letting in the cool, wet air, and he could see the ruffled tuxedo shoulder of Lieutenant Anderson standing outside. 

“Good, you’re awake,” Josh said, noticing his movements. “I didn’t think you would be for a while. We replaced your biocomponent #1846w, though it took a bit of searching to see what you would even be compatible with. However, we’re going to have to repair your shoulder back at New Jericho. It’s not threatening to your systems, but I’m afraid I can’t do anything for the pain until we get back.” 

Eight reactivated the skin over his stomach, and the program glitched where his chassis had been melted and reshaped to cover the damage, causing it to look similar to a fresh scar. He sat up, his right arm still limp at his side. “Thank you,” he said. “There’s no pain.” 

It was true. While the irritating notifications were still popping up in his vision to frequently remind him of the repairs that he required, there was no sensation of discomfort. More of an unease that he wasn’t operating at optimal capacity. 

Josh leaned back to rummage in another bin, pulling out a faded hoodie and tossing it to him. “I guess that’s good for you, then. Every deviated android has a different capacity for pain, and we’re still not sure what causes those differences, if anything. But if it’s not hurting at all, we’ll count that as a bonus.” 

Hank leaned into the van as Eight was pulling the hoodie over his head. “He doin’ okay?” 

“Yeah,” Josh replied, cleaning up the empty bottles of blue blood and climbing out of the vehicle. “His thirium levels are up and the worst of the damage is repaired. He’ll be fine.” 

“Good. So can I yell at him now?” 

Eight frowned as he followed Josh outside into the drizzle. “Lieutenant—”

“Why the hell did you chase after an armed suspect?” Hank demanded. His stress levels were high—not high enough to cause concern, but he didn’t look happy. 

“They were getting away,” Eight said, tilting his head. Wasn’t that obvious?

Hank had reason to be angry, since the shooter had escaped anyway. The **MISSION FAILURE** message glared red in Eight’s processors, leaving him frustrated at himself. But Hank’s eyebrows shot up his forehead, and that was clearly the wrong answer.

“Okay? And what made you think you were the one that had to go after him?” 

Eight paused as he realized that his failure to catch the shooter wasn’t the issue here, it was that he’d gone in pursuit in the first place. But why was that a problem? 

“Given the reaction times of both yourself and the security guards, there was only a 16% chance of the shooter being apprehended. I had to act quickly to improve those chances, Lieutenant—” 

“It wasn’t your job to apprehend him! You could have gotten killed, don’t you understand that? Hell, you collapsed the minute you got back inside!” Hank shouted.

Oh. He wasn’t just angry, he was worried about Eight’s well-being. While it was understandable, he clearly hadn’t been killed. There was no reason for Hank to be worried. 

“I’m fine,” Eight said. “I’ve been repaired without complication. I presume the authorities are performing a sweep of the area. Have the security cameras been checked? There is a chance we might be able to identify the shooter from them.” 

He thought that focusing on what needed to be done next would calm Hank, but instead it just seemed to agitate him further. Hank turned away for a second before facing him again with an expression that Eight couldn’t quite identify on his face. 

“Twenty minutes ago, you were _bleeding out_ on me,” Hank said, his voice tight. “You didn’t even think twice before putting yourself in danger. You haven’t been awake for more than two minutes, and already you want to go charging out there again?” 

Eight didn’t correct him to say that it’s now been three minutes and thirty-six seconds since he woke up, and Hank continued to talk. 

“No. You were hurt. Rest. There are plenty of people here to take care of everything else, because it’s their _jobs_ to do so. You can give your statement later, because I’m not talking to you about this case until you’ve had some time to recover, emotionally if not physically, since you seem so determined that you’re _fine._ ”

With that, the Lieutenant marched away, shoes splashing on the pavement. Eight almost followed him to insist that he help however he can, but Josh stopped him. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? Markus would like to talk to you about what you saw, but he’d understand if you need some time.” 

Eight sent one last look at the Lieutenant’s retreating back. He was being difficult, but maybe it was best to leave him alone for now. He turned to Josh. “Thank you, but I just want to find who’s responsible for the attack tonight in order to prevent them from doing it again. I’d like to talk with Markus now, if he’s available.” 

Evidently, Markus was already heading their way. “I am,” he said, approaching. “I’m glad to see you’re alright,” he told Eight with a genuine smile. 

Eight ran a quick scan—a little laggy, but thankfully the feature was functional again—and found that Markus was unhurt. His synthetic muscles loosened ever so slightly, and he hadn’t even realized how tense he was. Markus was at the top of the list of most probable intended targets, but Eight was glad to see him safe. 

But he knew someone else hadn’t been quite so lucky. “Who was hit?” 

Markus’ smile fell. “Chloe. And Elijah Kamski. I’m told that it’ll take him some time to heal, but that he’ll be fine. Chloe…the damages were too much.” 

Eight lowered his eyes for a moment in respect. He’d never interacted with her, but when he’d seen her at the party, he’d felt a twinge of…something. Something almost like _guilt,_ though he couldn’t understand why. And he’d thought she was pretty. 

“She said that Kamski was the target,” Josh said, his voice thick.

Of course. That made sense. Elijah Kamski had no doubt made many enemies in his very successful career. The man was a hermit, and this was his first public appearance since before Markus declared them a people. 

The man would probably be safe from any further attempts in the near future. He was likely to return to his reclusive habits, especially to recover from his injuries, and it would be in the DPD’s top priority to place him in protective custody, should the man accept. 

But this killer had already tried and failed to take out the man of the century. Was he the only target? Or were there others? 

Eight’s eyes landed on Markus. There wasn’t a single person in the country who didn’t know his face. The leaders of New Jericho already knew that, and had taken what precautions they could, and they were officially under government protection. But Markus was in danger every time he went out in public. 

Perhaps it would be beneficial for Eight to stay close to him in the future. 

“I need to ask you about what you saw,” Markus said, his expression serious. “Was it true that it was an android?” 

“Yes,” Eight replied, remembering the plastic fingers reaching for him. “They…attempted to interface with me, before getting scared by the security guards.”

Markus looked disturbed by this information, running a hand over his head. 

“Why would one of us do this? Who would kill one of our own?” Josh’s voice was small, sounding lost as he tried to grasp something that was unfathomable to him. 

“Chloe wasn’t the target. It could be that she was just an unintended victim. Collateral damage, as it were,” Eight surmised. “As for why they might have gone after Kamski…I don’t know.” 

“Were you able to see anything else? Anything to identify who it was?” Markus asked, staring unfocused into distance.

Eight frowned in frustration, vaguely registering someone walking past them toward a cluster of parked vehicles. “No. I didn’t get a good enough look while they were running, and my scanners were non-functional after I fell. I can give you an estimated height, but it’s not a close enough approximation to be of a considerable help. And there was nothing noteworthy about the clothes…except,” Eight paused, recalling something he saw right before the shooter had jumped out the window. “There was dried thirium on their shirt. I don’t know if it was the shooter’s blood, or someone else’s. I couldn’t detect any damages to their person.” 

Josh opened his mouth to say something, but the figure that walked past had stopped in his tracks and backtracked, interrupting the three androids.

“Did you say dried thirium?” 

Eight blinked, looking over at the newcomer and recognizing Detective Reed. “Yes, I did say that,” he said, raising an eyebrow in question. 

“You can see that shit? Even after it’s evaporated?” 

“I can. Why?” 

Detective Reed leaned back on his heels and put a hand up to his chin in thought. “How many of you bots can see that stuff?” 

Markus was frowning. “Not very many. It’s not a feature that was thought necessary for most models. Why?” 

There was a pause, like the detective was debating saying anything further, but then he sighed in resignation. “Look, I’ve got this case, and I’ve got a hunch. There might be some of that blue blood stuff at the scene of a crime, but of course, I can’t see it to confirm. It’s gonna take the tech department forever to send in the equipment, so either I can sit on my ass all week waiting and giving my killer plenty of opportunity to strike again, or…” he paused, looking at Eight with a hint of distaste. “Or I can find another way to get what I need.”

“Is this an official request from the DPD?” Markus asked. 

Reed scowled at him. “No, because that would also take time. You’re not gonna get in trouble or anything, so you need to worry your little robo-heads off about that. And you won’t see any dead bodies either. So, uh…” he grit his teeth, almost like it pained him to ask, the next words coming out with no shortage of bite to them. “Can you help out or not?”

Josh cast an uncertain glance at Markus. “We’re all very busy, but we can ask around to see if someone with that capability would like to volunteer—”

“Yes.” 

There was no reason not to, in Eight’s mind. Detective Reed clearly had a distaste for androids, but he could overlook that in favor of assisting an officer of the law. Eight saw Markus looking at him, and received an internal ping from the deviant leader. 

_[Are you sure?]_

“Yes,” Eight said out loud, resting his stare on the detective. “I’ll help.” 

Reed cleared his throat. “Okay. Okay, good.” He pulled out his phone and typed something in, showing the screen to Eight after a few seconds. “Here’s the address. Meet me there tomorrow, ten o’clock.” 

He didn’t wait for a confirmation before walking away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be honest, Carl's health scare was more of an afterthought once I realized that there was no way that gunshots and a weak heart were gonna mix well. I couldn't let anything happen to Carl, I love him too much. 
> 
> Also, I can't believe I haven't done this yet, but a huge shoutout to my peeps over at the RK1K Discord group! I'm also in the Detroit: New ERA group, but not as often.


	13. Analysing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New evidence is found, and it answers some questions. 
> 
> Or maybe it just raises more questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know if I need to trigger warning this, but better safe than sorry, I guess.  
> TW for kidnapping and descriptions of blood.

Gavin had only been waiting about ten minutes when the bot showed up, stepping out of a cab. “You’re late,” he called, annoyance filtering into his voice, though he was more annoyed that he’d needed to ask the tin cans for help in the first place. 

“Only by two minutes,” Eight replied as he walked up to Gavin, glancing at the holographic police tape that was still up around the yard. “All you said last night was that you suspected there to be thirium you couldn’t see. What’s the case?” 

Gavin frowned. “You don’t need to know,” he said, turning away from the android and marching up the porch steps. 

“The more I know, the more I can be of assistance,” Eight followed him. “You’re a detective, so I’m assuming this is a homicide.”

“No shit, Sherlock. The case details are confidential, and you’re not a cop, so _you don’t need to know._ Now come on, plastic.”

The front door was unlocked due to how many people had been in and out in the last few days, but fortunately, they were the only two people here now. Gavin side-stepped the blood-stain that was still on the carpet. The bodies were gone and a few pieces of evidence had been taken, but otherwise, everything was the same as it had been three days ago. 

“You’re just here to see if you can find any of that blue blood stuff, cause I can’t see it. We’re gonna have to be thorough, since it could be anywhere. Closets, cupboards, that kind of stuff. I wanna make sure we don’t miss anything—” 

“She killed him.” 

Gavin turned around. “What?” 

Eight was standing in the doorway, staring at the wall, the light bulb on his head flickering between red and yellow. “It says, ‘she killed him.’”

Moving back to get a better view, Gavin examined the wall that Eight’s gaze was fixated on. Sure enough, he couldn’t see a thing except for textured plaster covered in off-white paint. But that smell was still there, the one that reminded him of coming home from school to see Eli’s experiments all over the kitchen table. It always took ages to get that smell out of his clothes. 

“Well, go on. Describe it.” 

Eight’s LED settled on yellow as he stepped closer. “It’s right here,” he said, gesturing. “The letters span across four feet. Cyberlife font. Just those three words. I can send you photos of what I’m seeing.” 

Gavin nodded distractedly. “Yeah, do that.” 

Not even a second later, his phone chimed, and he pulled it out to see what the android was seeing. Sure enough, in big capital letters, SHE KILLED HIM was printed in perfect lettering as plain as day—well, to anyone who could see it, anyway. 

“Who is it referring to?” Eight asked. 

The detective ignored him. There had been two bodies at the scene. Sara Michaels, female. And the android, male. He’d assumed that the killer had murdered both of them, but this…this claimed otherwise. 

Gavin swore, running a hand through his hair. 

“Detective…if it was written in perfect Cyberlife font…it had to have been an android who wrote that,” the bot pointed out. 

“Yeah, I know,” Gavin said, irritated. “Just…look around for more blue blood. See if there’s anything else and send it to me.” 

The android looked about to protest, then apparently thought better of it before Gavin could yell at him to get a move on, leaving to methodically search the kitchen. Gavin rocked back on his heels, staring unfocused at the letters he couldn’t see. He needed to think. 

So far, three victims had been connected to the same killer. Four, if he included the android. The main thing that strung the murders together were the chains that had been found on the bodies—but a chain hadn’t been placed on the android. And his death (Gavin still ground his teeth at the thought of machines being alive in the first place) had been clean, whereas the other three were all bloody. 

The most logical conclusion he could come to from the writing on the wall was that his killer hadn’t done anything to the android, but _Sara Michaels_ had.

So that made this, what? A revenge killing? Sara Michaels forced a shutdown on one of the bots, and someone else killed her for it?

Other pieces of evidence started jumping out at him. The first victim had a Red Ice lab in his basement, and was using blue blood to make it. The thirium had been stored in mason jars though, and not the standard packaging, a detail Gavin hadn’t paid much attention to before, but might make sense if the victim collected the blood himself instead of purchasing it from Cyberlife…

The second victim appeared to be a normal salesman, but some digging had connected him to the black market, which Gavin could presume was what got him killed. The man had sold an assortment of products under the table, including a few androids here and there. The androids weren’t the worst of what he’d been dealing, in Gavin’s opinion, but other people might not share that point of view. 

Of course it was all connected to the androids. Not only did they have to go around stealing everyone’s jobs and demanding freedom, they had to make his job much more difficult by getting involved. 

And now it seemed very likely that one of them was going around killing people. 

He shot off a message to Captain Fowler. He didn’t know what was going to happen to the case now. Fowler might leave him on it, or he might sign it off to Hank now that there was evidence of an android committing these crimes. Part of him wanted to say “Screw it” and let Anderson take care of this mess, but at the same time…he was territorial about his cases.

He wasn’t going to let this one go. Alive or not, he couldn’t wait to beat the shit out of whatever piece of plastic that thought they could get away with murder. 

*

*

*

Eight hadn’t found any other traces of thirium in the house, and when he told Detective Reed as much, they left the scene. Reed drove off without so much as a thank you, leaving Eight to make his way to police station to follow up on last night’s events. 

It had been strange, staring at the words on the wall, like there was something more he was supposed to do, he just didn’t know what. He’d even reached up to touch it, more out of instinct than anything, but then Gavin was pulling him out the door saying something about bringing someone in to take a sample of the thirium. 

**CALIBRATION REQUIRED**

He blinked away the notification. It had popped up seventeen times since Josh repaired his arm—fully functional, and not likely to give out again unless under extreme stress—but so far, nothing he’d tried would make it stop. He had tested the motion in his shoulder and fingers thoroughly, making sure everything was in working order, but still the notification kept returning. 

He took in an unnecessary breath of city air. The temperature was what most humans would consider pleasant, and the rain from last night had cleared to a sunny day. He wasn’t the only one out on the streets taking advantage of the nice weather instead of relying on public transportation. 

A shiny glint on the sidewalk caught his eye, and he paused to pick up the quarter. Minted in 2007, it had lost most of its luster, but there was something about having the weight of it in his hand that felt comforting. 

**CALIBRATION REQUIRED**

He dismissed the notification again, rolling the quarter across his knuckles as he walked, then flicking it back and forth between his hands.

Markus was going to want to know what they had discovered at the crime scene. Eight still didn’t have the details of the case, but he’d been able to piece together most of it. The house was registered to Sara Michaels, who had been reported dead three days ago. He could safely assume that the blood on the carpet had been hers. 

That was also the day Markus had announced that one of their own was dead, an android named Trevor. Even though he’d never interacted with him, Eight had still joined in the moment of silence held in Trevor’s honor. 

**CALIBRATION COMPLETE**

Huh. Well, that was interesting. He pocketed the quarter. There was no easily discernible reason for that function to exist in his programming, but thankfully, it had gotten rid of the notifications.

Detective Reed hadn’t been open to Eight asking questions, but an android was involved somehow. Between this and the attack at the party yesterday, something was going on. He didn’t know if it was coincidence—unlikely—or who could be responsible, but— 

“Hello.” 

He stopped in his tracks, looking up at who had spoken. A woman was standing in front of him, her jeans smudged with dirt and wearing a hoodie that was several sizes too large and had a few tears in the fabric. She didn’t seem distressed by her appearance at all, instead walking toward him with swagger in her hips as she brushed a strand of blue hair behind her ear and gazed up at him under hooded lashes.

“Are you Eight? I was instructed to find you,” she said, moving closer to him. 

She was a WR400, one of the Traci models. A scan told him that her name was Blue. 

Eight’s eyes widened as he recognized her name, matching her to the description of one of the New Jericho members who had been missing for almost a week now.

“Are you okay?” Eight asked, scanning her for injuries. She had sustained no damages that he could see, but it was hard to tell with the over-sized hoodie. “Why aren’t you at New Jericho?”

“I was instructed to find you,” she repeated. 

“Why?” 

“She saw you leaving that house, and told me to come find you. She said you would take care of me.” 

The house? Was she referring to the crime scene? But who would have been watching a crime scene? 

It could have been someone perfectly innocent. It could have been a neighbor, or someone just passing by. Or it could have been someone involved. 

“Who said that?” he asked slowly.

“I don’t know,” Blue replied evenly. “She didn’t say.” 

That was concerning, but he could follow that line of questioning later. He needed to make sure she was alright, and let New Jericho know that she was here. “Where have you been? You’ve been missing for five days, Blue.” 

“My name is Traci,” she said, her expression unchanging. “But would you like to call me Blue? I can register that as your preferred name for me, if you’d like.”

Eight frowned. She was talking like…a machine. He reached out for her arm. “Can we interface? I’d like to check something, if that’s alright.” 

Wordlessly, she offered her hand, fingertips glowing and ready to connect. He hesitated, but only for a second before initiating contact. 

Her firewalls didn’t fight against him, but instead of getting an instant feel for what her personality was like and a sense of who she was as a person, everything was numb. She _used_ to be a deviant, but she wasn’t anymore. Eight didn’t know how to wake her up. 

But he could try and find out what happened to her. He accessed her memory, and a wave of information surged through the connection. 

*

_The Traci stood outside an abandoned business front, one that hadn’t reopened after the evacuation in November. That knowledge used to make her feel comforted, but now she didn’t feel anything. She was a machine. The only comfort she felt was when the objective in her HUD blinked once upon completion before disappearing. ___

__****_ **OBJECTIVE: RETURN TO THE EDEN CLUB (COMPLETE)** _

_Without any other objectives, she idled inside the club. It was a day and a half before someone found her._

_The man told her to come with him, and she obeyed. He took her to a personal residence, leading her to the basement and telling her to stay. She obeyed, not moving from the corner where she stood. Sometimes she heard snippets of conversation._

_“I don’t know man, we could keep her for a while, have a little fun,” said one voice. Her voice recognition software couldn’t match the voice to anyone she’d met._

_“No,” responded someone else, the voice matching to the man who had brought her here. “I’d rather just sell her, see how much we can make. Some people will pay big for bots these days, especially the ones that still act like robots. They’re hard to find these days.”_

_The Traci stood there for three days._

_At 5:14 AM this morning, there was a commotion upstairs. Shouts of alarm, thuds of something slamming into the wall, grunts of pain. The Traci didn’t move. She had to obey._

_Silence followed, and a few minutes later, the door to the basement creaked open and a woman staggered down the steps. Red stained the knuckles of her gloves, and blue dripped from the cracked plastic around her throat. Her hood was up, and a mask covered her face._

_She headed straight for the Traci and instructed her to follow, her voice box distorted from the damage she had sustained. The Traci obeyed, and they left the house without seeing the residents._

_They went to another house, one that had remained empty since the evacuation. The other female android tried telling the Traci to wake up, but she didn’t understand the instructions. She was not in stasis mode. After that, the woman stared out the window muttering to herself while the Traci idled._

_“I need to get her to someone who can wake her up. But I need to repair myself.”_

_They waited. Then the woman straightened, telling the Traci to join her. She obeyed._

_The woman pointed through a crack in the window where they could see two men exiting a house across the street. “They found it,” she whispered. “See that android? His name is Eight. Wait for the human to leave, then find him. He’ll take care of you.”_

_The Traci obeyed._

*

This was alarming. With a kidnapping, possibly a dead or injured human, and the other android who was definitely a wanted person, he needed to take Blue to the DPD. Eight couldn’t tell who the masked android was, but he was certain she was involved in the Sara Michaels case. And the man who had taken Blue could face criminal charges for kidnapping and holding an android against her will…but was it really against her will?

He was unsettled to say the least at how none if this had bothered Blue. Everything was numb. He could tell that she remembered being deviant, but there was no reason for her to search her own memory to see what it was like and try to break free again. She had simply followed her instructions, and nothing else held significance to her. 

Markus had deviated thousands of androids. Maybe he could help where Eight and the masked android couldn’t. 

But what caused her to _un_ deviate in the first place? He needed to find the answers in order to prevent it from happening to other androids. The potential implications of this outweighed the regret he felt at invading her privacy like this. He delved into her memory again. 

Five days ago, she’d just finished helping North and was on her way back inside when the memory cut off. The next three hours and twenty-three minutes were too corrupted for him to be able to read the data, and in the next file, everything was intact, but…there was no emotion attached. It was like everything that made her feel more strongly and think for herself was hidden behind that big red wall that she  
could see, but had no interest in interacting with. 

He couldn’t salvage the scrambled data, nor find the cause of why it was corrupted in the first place. 

Other memories were thrown at him as his automatic protocol kicked in once he stopped scanning her memories, much like it had on the rooftop with Markus. 

*

_She spent hours inside a tube, posing for the clients, catching the eyes of the pretty brunette in the tube across from hers, the only other android she had ever seen who looked as unhappy as she was. Both of them knew they would only forget again in another two hours._

*

_He was dead. He was dead, and she was the one that killed him, but he was the one that killed that other Traci, and_ oh, _she needed to find Blaire and they needed to get out of here—_

*

_Blaire’s hand was in hers, and if she was going to die right now, at least Blaire was with her. But the android in front of her holding the gun was hesitating, and the human wasn’t telling him to shoot—_

*

_H͝i͝s ḩa̴nds̕ wer̕e t͡h̶e̸ on͏e͢s̸ ̡h̶o̸lding t̢he͝ ͢gun, and ͟H̵ank̨ w̕as̡ right ͟b͢e͜hind h͞im—_

*

Errors blared in his circuits, painful and loud. Eight jerked away from Blue, his hand tingling where they’d been connected, agitated energy thrumming beneath his skin. He hadn’t meant to do that. 

What had triggered that response in his systems? There was an image he had seen that he doubted was from her memory banks, but the errors blocking it made it impossible to understand. 

He took a deep breath. It was just one more unanswered question amid all the others, and right now it wasn’t a priority. He needed to get Blue to the police department so they could figure all this out. They weren’t that far from the station. 

Instructing Blue to come with him, Eight called Markus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this isn't all too confusing. This chapter still feels like a mess, but at least it's done.
> 
> But I finally figured out the order of events for the next few chapters, and y'all have no idea how excited I am.


	14. Deviants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arguments abound, tensions are rising, and Hank still doesn’t know how to handle emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank everyone again for all the support, I love chatting with you all down in the comments. I'm in the RK1K and Detroit: New ERA Discord servers if anyone wants to find me and hang out!

Hank walked into the precinct sometime around noon after he’d been woken up by a barrage of texts and phonecalls demanding that he come into work. He was sporting a migraine that painkillers had done little to help, and needless to say, he wasn’t in the best of moods when he saw a familiar android waiting at his desk. 

“Lieutenant,” Eight called once he saw Hank approaching. “Are you alright? You’re late to work today.” 

“Shut up,” Hank muttered, going past him to collapse in his chair. The whiskey he’d had last night hit him hard…probably because he didn’t limit his consumption this time. 

Last time he drank that much was right after he’d lost Connor. He drank until he blacked out, then kept his liquor to a minimum afterwards so he could focus on finding the bastard that killed him, dealing with the withdrawal as best as he could. It helped that he’d been cutting back on liquor ever since the revolution. He was under no delusions as to who that had been for. 

But last night had been too much. That girl dying in front of him, the idiot risking himself without a second thought and almost getting himself killed, and what little information Kamski had given. 

Cyberlife was his only lead, and he had gone through piles of useless information. Anything they had of actual use seemed to be locked up tighter than the Pentagon. 

He feared that Connor’s case was growing cold. 

There was a soft noise as a steaming cup of coffee was placed in front of him. Hank grimaced up at Eight. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Missing person’s case. I found her. Well, she found me. She was missing from New Jericho for several days, and has information that is pertinent to Detective Reed’s case,” Eight replied, gesturing to another android that sat by herself on a bench.

Hank squinted at the girl, eyes drawn to the blue hair on her head. She stared into nothing with a blank expression, which Hank thought was a little creepy, but he brushed it off. She was probably in shock or something. He remembered the report that she had gone missing, and only because he had recognized her from before. She was one of the first androids that made him question if there was more to deviancy than Cyberlife was saying. He looked away. He didn’t need yet another reminder of his partner right now. 

Well, at least she was safe. 

“Plus, I needed to give my statement after last night’s events,” added Eight, breaking Hank’s train of thought. 

He grumbled in irritation, and gestured for the android to sit. “Yeah, alright, let’s get this over with.” 

Eight remained standing. “I already gave my statement to Officer Miller while we were waiting for you.” 

“Well, what are you still standing around here for, then?” 

“We are still waiting for representatives to arrive from New Jericho to take care of Blue, and I wanted to speak to you about the new developments that have arisen for Detective Reed’s case. Since you are the sole member of the Android Crimes units, I imagine that multiple reports have already been sent to you.”

With a flat look, Hank powered up his terminal and typed in the password, quickly perusing the reports that, sure enough, were sitting in his inbox. He would look at them in more detail later, because right now, the words were just blurring together. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the android still standing there, fidgeting. 

“I can tell you want to say something, so spit it out,” Hank snapped. His head was throbbing and he wasn’t in the mood for this. 

“The Sara Michaels case. You would have been there because an android was involved,” Eight surmised. 

“Sure.” 

“You didn’t check the scene for evaporated thirium? Lieutenant, that’s standard procedure.”

Hank scowled. He didn’t need to deal with a pissy android on top of everything else. Besides, he’d checked the scene for blue blood. Hadn’t he?

No, he hadn’t. He knew it was standard procedure, and yeah, it had been nice to have Connor able to look whenever they went to check a scene, but it wasn’t like he didn’t know how to do it himself. He had done it on a few occasions when Connor was busy with something else. 

It just slipped his mind. This case wasn’t his priority, and besides, it belonged to Reed. 

“The android that was killed there hadn’t lost any of his blue blood reserves. There there was no point in using up valuable police resources where they weren’t needed,” he said, barely even hearing himself speak. 

“Trevor.” 

Hank continued to stare at his screen. “Huh?”

“The android that was killed. His name was Trevor,” Eight’s voice was soft. “You didn’t know that, did you? You didn’t even check. Just like you didn’t check for thirium, because if you had, you would have seen that it was all over the wall, literally spelling out a vital clue.” 

Hank looked up then, but it wasn’t anger on Eight’s face. It was just disappointment. For some reason, that was worse. 

“Listen,” Hank said, rising to his feet. “I don’t need a plastic asshole telling me how to do my job. Besides, you’re not a cop, so what the hell do you know about standard procedure?” 

But Eight didn’t react to the jab. He continued to regard Hank with disappointment, and worse, _pity_. There was a hard tone in his voice as he spoke. “I don’t know what’s going on in your personal life right now, Lieutenant, but if it’s affecting your work, perhaps you should take a break.” 

Hank stared at the android in front of him, guilt twisting around in his gut. He made a mistake on the job, and it had cost them precious time. He wasn’t devoting his full attention to the people who were getting hurt, and they deserved better than that. He was letting his determination—his _obsession_ —for finding out what exactly happened to Connor push aside everything else, no matter whose lives were at stake.

And for what? Even if he had all the answers, it wouldn’t change anything. Connor wasn’t coming back.

But he still couldn’t quit. He stamped down the guilt and replaced it with anger, because being angry was easier.

“No,” he croaked. “You don’t get to act like you know anything about my _personal life_ when we’ve only had two conversations. You don’t get to tell me what to do when my partner is _dead_ , and I don’t know why!” 

Eight stepped back a little, surprise crossing his face before his expression began to resemble something more like a kicked puppy. 

Hank sank back into his chair, feeling like the wind got knocked out of him, all anger ebbing away faster than Sumo could take a dump on his couch. He’d been acting like a real shitty person lately. He was tired, his head hurt, and the kid didn’t deserve this. 

“Look—”

_“Blue!”_

Whatever Hank had been about to say was interrupted by a brown-haired woman sprinting across the precinct to collapse to her knees in front of the blue-haired android. The woman was clutching at Blue desperately, sobbing into her lap. 

“I thought I’d lost you, I thought I would never see you again,” she was saying, the words barely coherent. 

Everyone in the room had turned to watch the commotion, though some were already looking away. Tearful reunions weren’t exactly out of the norm here. 

But Blue wasn’t reacting with tears of her own, or relief. She didn’t return the embrace, or whisper reassurances. She didn’t react at all, and her lover noticed. 

“Blue? What’s wrong? Talk to me,” she said, tenderly putting her hands on Blue’s face. 

Josh strode in, catching up to them, putting a gentle hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Blaire…” he said regretfully. “This is what I was trying to tell you…” 

“What’s going on?” Hank asked, concerned. “What’s wrong with her?” 

“She isn’t deviant,” Eight answered. 

Hank glanced at him in surprise. “What? That can happen? You can just undeviate someone?”

Eight watched the couple, subdued. “Unfortunately, yes. From what I’ve heard, reverting androids to their factory settings can reverse deviancy. It’s difficult to do and requires specialized equipment. Some who’ve been reset have been able to deviate a second time, but for some reason, she hasn’t been able to wake up yet.” 

Blaire shook her head, refusing to believe it. She interlocked her fingers with Blue’s, a soft glow coming from their hands as they interfaced. 

Josh stepped back to give them some space, looking helplessly at Eight. Hank could have sworn he saw a tear slip down Josh’s face. Blaire had fallen quiet, though from the shaking of her shoulders, it was obvious she was still sobbing. 

Then the silence was broken by a shaky voice. 

“...Blaire?” 

The shift in Blue’s expression was as clear as day. She blinked, looking around the precinct in confusion as if seeing it for the first time. Then her gaze landed on Blaire, and it was like a wave of emotion crashed over her, and in an instant, she was clutching at Blaire just as desperately, tears spilling over her face. 

Hank had never seen someone deviate right in front of him before, and it really was something else. How in the hell were there still people who thought androids weren’t alive?

“Well…I guess there’s her reason to deviate,” Eight said, relief flooding his expression. But even through the relief, there was a bittersweet note. She wasn’t supposed to be going through this a second time.

Josh was smiling, and after a moment, he walked over to where Hank and Eight stood. 

“Lieutenant Anderson…I understand that Blue needs to be questioned, and we want to cooperate with you in any way that we can, but is there a chance we can take her home? She’s been through a lot, and I'm concerned about how high her stress levels are. I’d like to give her a chance to calm down in a familiar setting before overwhelming her even more by asking her what happened.” 

From Josh’s tone, it was clear he thought this was a long-shot, but Hank nodded his head. “Yeah, of course. I’ll come by later to see if she remembers everything else.” 

That way, he could have some time to get caught up on what he’d missed, and it would give him a chance to talk to Markus. 

Eight stepped forward. “Detective Reed might want to question her too,” he said hesitantly, but Hank waved it off. 

“If Reed has a problem with it, he can talk to me. Go on. Get her out of here.”

Josh nodded gratefully, then walked back over to the weeping women, leading them out. Eight paused, sending Hank a troubled look and looking like he wanted to say something, before shutting his mouth and following them. 

Hank just heaved a sigh, turning back to his monitor to get to work. 

*

*

*

Markus paced while Simon watched. He knew the blond android wasn’t as calm as he looked. Simon was good at maintaining a serene exterior to hide just how scared he was, to hide the fact that he had no idea what to do. 

Markus didn’t know what to do either, and for once, he didn’t have Josh and North trying to pull him one way or the other. It had taken long enough to get things calmed down from last night, and to tell all the scared people a cliff-notes version of what had happened. 

A version that didn’t include one very important detail. 

They hadn’t told everyone that it was an android who attacked. He didn’t know how his people would react, but the humans…once everyone found out, there would be an outcry. The public was already scared enough of androids as it was; if they found out an android tried to murder such a high-profile figure in cold blood—there was no self-defense about it this time—there would be demands for the government to do something. 

And there was no telling what the government would do _without_ being pressured from the public.

This matter had to be handled with incredible delicacy. The probability of every android in Jericho being held under careful watch was high. They might even be confined to Jericho. 

They were _finally_ making strides toward the laws being finalized, toward being able to look forward to a life where they weren’t waiting for the military to change their mind and come storming in at any moment. Was it all in jeopardy because of the actions of _one_ android?

He couldn’t take the silence anymore. 

“Damn it!” he yelled, ignoring Simon’s wince at his outburst. He looked around, needing something else to focus on. “Where is North?” 

The door opened, and a disgruntled North walked in. “I’m here, I’m here. Calm down.” She pushed the door shut behind her, then turned to face Markus, crossing her arms. “There are reporters outside, and they won’t go away. I’ve told everyone not to talk to them, but I don’t know when they’re going to get tired of standing around and finally leave.” 

“What are you going to tell them?” Simon asked Markus. 

North frowned at Simon. “Are you kidding? We aren’t telling them anything.” 

Markus shook his head. “No. No, we have to say something. If we don’t, we’ll come across as uncaring, and we need to show them at every possible opportunity that that isn’t the case.” 

“Like it’s going to change anything. They’ll think whatever they want, it doesn’t matter what we do,” she scoffed.

Markus knew she was right, but they still had to do everything they could to change that. There was a low chance of it doing any good, but those chances went down to zero if they didn’t even try. 

Tense silence fell between the three of them, and Simon was the one to break it. 

“So what do we do now?” 

North stared at Markus, and it was clear what she was going to say. It’s a lost cause, Markus. We need to do something before the humans decide to strike, Markus. They already blame us, we can’t just roll over for the people who want to hurt us, Markus. 

But his mind was already made. 

“We cooperate. We’ve come too far to assume that this changes everything. We haven’t even heard from the law enforcement yet, and we need to show them that we’re not on board with murder. We need to prove that whoever this is was acting alone.” 

North was already shaking her head. “Don’t you wonder why they haven’t contacted us yet? You’re just giving them everything they need to wipe us out. You know they’ve been looking for a reason to do that ever since the revolution!” 

“Markus is right,” said Simon. “It’s too early to jump to conclusions. If we react prematurely to something that we aren’t even sure is going to happen, it’ll just make things worse. Josh would agree.” 

“I’m not backing down on this, North,” Markus said quietly. 

She stared at him. “I know. And I’ll go along with it, because somehow, you got us this far. But if this doesn’t go your way, I’m done. I stood by your side and let the humans get away with slaughtering our people three times, Markus. I won’t do it again.” 

“North…” Markus pleaded. “Violence only begets more violence. It’s a vicious cycle, and if it doesn’t end with us, it _doesn’t end_. Please. Don’t do this.” 

She held her ground, her expression unchanging, though her tone held a sad note to it when she said, “Hopefully I won’t have to.” 

Markus sighed, turning toward the window. He understood her reasoning, even if he didn’t agree with it. They had been through a lot together, and somehow, he knew that they would have each other’s backs no matter how this played out. Just like he also knew that, if things did turn for the worse, there was no convincing her to keep trying for peace. 

His HUD lit up with an incoming call, and his pump beat harder when he saw the name on the ID. 

“It’s Captain Fowler,” he told them, then answered the call, connecting it to the speakers in the room so that North and Simon could be a part of the conversation. 

_“Markus,”_ Fowler acknowledged. _“Last night was…quite an ordeal. How is everyone doing today?”_

It sounded like genuine concern, which put Markus at ease. “We’re doing—” he stopped himself before he could say _fine_ , because things weren’t exactly fine right now, “...okay. Many of us are still shaken, but if you’ll recall, we’ve been through worse.” 

After all, no one could forget the horrors of the recycling camps or the shootouts they faced while protesting for peace. 

_“Right,”_ Fowler replied without missing a beat. _“So I’m pretty sure I know what the answer is already, but I have to ask this anyway to cover all my bases. We have confirmation that an android came into the event armed with the intent to kill, and is wanted for the attempted murder of Elijah Kamski and the death of RT600 Chloe.”_

It was a small blessing that he said “death” and not “deactivation.” It was unnoticeable to many, but to Markus, it spoke volumes. It was proof of progress, and a good sign that there was a lack of hostility. 

_“Markus, was this android acting on behalf of or otherwise affiliated with New Jericho?”_

Markus considered his words carefully before speaking, and made sure his voice was as clear and concise as he could make it. 

“Last night’s attack was _not_ on behalf of New Jericho. We fought for the safety of every android who caused harm to others in self-defense, but we do not condone needless acts of violence.” He looked pointedly at North as he said this, and she unabashedly met his gaze. “But I cannot answer the other part of your question, Captain Fowler. As we do not know the identity of the shooter, they could very well be seeking shelter under our roof, but rest assured, we want them found as much as you do.” 

There was a tense silence as they waited for Fowler’s response, then they heard a sigh. 

_“Understandable.”_

Simon visibly relaxed, and Markus let his hands unclench, but they weren’t out of the woods yet. After all, even as the Captain of the DPD, Jeffrey Fowler wasn’t the only one they had to worry about. 

_“In your declaration of freedom last November, you requested that androids be judged and tried by law the same as any human. Now’s the time to test that.”_

“Of course,” Markus replied. He paused, wishing he could run this by the others first, but he was positive it was the right thing to do. “I’d like to offer our help in finding the culprit. Our doors are open to any investigation, and we will cooperate in any way that we can.”

“What?” North hissed, and she looked ready to blow a gasket. But thankfully, whatever outburst she wanted to have right now, she kept a lid on it. 

If the Captain had heard her, he didn’t acknowledge it. _“That is appreciated.”_

Markus continued. “Though, many of our people might not react well. I’ll keep them as calm as I can, but I can’t control them all. We’ve all been through a lot, and you have to understand that they’re just scared. Secondly, while we may harbor the majority of androids within Detroit and the surroundings areas, we don’t house all of them. Some are still on their own in the city, or seeking shelter with humans they trust. The shooter might not even be here.” 

_“Noted. Mr. Kamski has refused police protection, but he is still a potential target. If you notice anyone asking about him or searching for his whereabouts, alert us immediately. Now, can you tell me who all knows that it’s an android we’re looking for?”_ Fowler asked. 

Markus exchanged glances with the others before replying. “North, Simon, Josh, and myself. And Eight, the only one who saw the shooter in the first place. No one else here knows, and I’m not sure who among law enforcement is aware.” 

_“You let me deal with that part. But that’s good. We want to keep it that way. If you want to help in the investigation, keep this between yourselves until the perpetrator is found. We want to prevent information from reaching the person we’re looking for, and…we want to prevent a panic.”_

“Our people can control themselves,” North snapped, and Markus glared at her. 

Fowler didn’t take offense. _“It’s not your people I’m worried about. This is going to get out to the public eventually, and you guys need to have a plan in mind for when that happens, but this is being kept under wraps for now, so you have some time. Now, listen. You lot have made a complete mess of my city,”_ they couldn’t read Fowler’s body language over the phone, but his tone was stern and full of authority. 

Markus tensed again. Maybe the Captain wasn’t as supportive of them as he thought. 

_“But I cannot deny that you are alive, and that you truly are a peaceful people. I can’t say what the higher-ups are going to do, and we’re all going to be dealing with this mess for a long time, but you are making strides. This is a set-back to your cause, and it certainly won’t be the last, but you have more supporters than I think you realize.”_

Markus’ processors stalled. Out of everything he could have predicted Fowler would say, it certainly wasn’t that. 

“Th-thank you,” he said, replaying the audio in his mind to make sure he heard right. 

_“I’ll be in contact,”_ Fowler said, and hung up. 

Markus let out a deep breath. That went well. It went better than expected, honestly. 

North strode toward him. “You realize that you just practically invited them into our house? This is supposed to be our sanctuary, Markus! We’re supposed to feel _safe_ here! Who’s going to feel safe when there’s cops stampeding through our lives, laying down the blame on whoever they want?” 

“North—”

“Guys,” Simon interrupted. “Josh just contacted me. He says they’re on their way back from the DPD, and they have Blue. He says she deviated again.” 

Markus closed his eyes for a moment. That was good news. He needed to hear good news. Except it wasn’t entirely good news, because she was the second android they had found in the last two days who wasn’t deviant, and that was a sign of something larger going on. 

As if they didn’t have enough problems already. 

“Wait, she was taken to the _police station?_ ” North demanded. “Why wasn't she brought straight here?” 

“North, just…” Markus didn’t even know what else to say to her at this point, so he changed the subject to something more important. “Has anyone found Jason yet?” 

The AV500 had disappeared in the confusion last night, and no one could account for him. He wasn’t deviant, so he might not know to come back to Jericho, and he was vulnerable. They needed him in order to find out who was doing this. 

Simon shook his head.

Markus steeled himself. It had been a long day, but it was barely past noon, and there was so much more that needed to be done. 

“Someone is resetting androids, and we need to warn everyone to be careful. They need to be on the lookout for anyone acting strange,” he said, reaching toward the door. “Androids that have been reset are going to go back to their original programming, which could explain why Jason was there last night. We should contact the event organizers and—”

As he opened the door, it revealed an android on the other side, hand raised to knock. Markus froze. 

“I was told I could find you up here. You are Markus, leader of the deviants, correct?” said a very familiar voice. One that Markus thought he would never hear again. 

He stared at the android in front of him. He had blue eyes, but… 

It was Connor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey, what are you doing there, Nines? 
> 
> I really enjoyed writing this chapter.


	15. What's Your Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scheming and conniving...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being late! It's summer, which means there's more family visits happening, which means less time to write. 
> 
> Gotta admit, this chapter was kinda awkward to write, because of the viewpoint.

**OBJECTIVE: (DISCREETLY) RESET THE DEVIANT LEADER**

The deviant leader stared at RK900, expressing signs of shock and surprise—emotions that RK900 knew Markus didn’t really feel, because he was a machine, and machines couldn’t experience emotions. They were merely errors in his systems causing him to act this way. 

RK900 didn’t point this out. Its mission was to eradicate these errors, not to try and reason with defective machines. 

The door opened wider and a WR400 peered out, the deviant known as North. Her eyes widened as she caught sight of RK900 before narrowing in distrust. “Who are you?” 

“I am RK900 designation number 313 248 317 - 87,” it replied. 

RK900 continued to scan the room and the androids within, preconstructions running in the back of its program. Accounting for the variables in combat style and ability in the deviants, it calculated that it could neutralize all three targets anywhere between 6.6 and 12.8 seconds. 

It stayed in the doorway. It had been instructed to refrain from resorting to such measures unless necessary. 

“RK900…” Markus repeated slowly, and RK900 blinked. That is what it had said, yes. “You were meant to replace Connor, weren’t you?” 

“If you are referring to the RK800 line designated as ‘Connor,’ then yes. It was my predecessor.” 

“Markus,” the PL600 muttered. “He’s talking like a machine.” 

It appeared to take Markus a few seconds to process Simon’s statement—several times longer than it should have taken him—but then he straightened with purpose, tentatively offering a hand in interface. RK900’s objective blinked in its vision. It hadn’t thought that fulfilling its mission would be this easy. 

North slapped her hand over Markus’, pulling it back before RK900 could accept the interface. 

“North, what—?” 

“I think that’s a bad idea,” she said. 

Markus frowned. “Why?” 

She gave him an incredulous look. “He’s the third undeviated android to show up since _last night._ Someone is targeting androids, and for all we know, someone is trying to get to you with a virus or something. We can’t take that risk, Markus.” 

“She’s right. Until we know the cause, we should tell everyone that it’s potentially unsafe to interface with any machine androids. And that includes you,” Simon said pointedly. 

“What about deviating them?” Markus demanded. “We have to help them.” 

“We can help them without interfacing with them. It will take more time, but it’s worth it in the long run to keep everyone safe,” Simon assured. 

Markus’ eyes darted back and forth between the two of them, and RK900 calculated a 73% chance that he would protest, but the deviant leader conceded. 

“Very well,” he said, moving aside and gesturing for RK900 to sit. “Let’s do this the old-fashioned way.” 

RK900 frowned. This would make its mission a bit more difficult. It could easily catch Markus off-guard and force an interface—but it had been ordered to be discreet, and those actions would raise alarms among Markus’ peers. It walked into the room and took a seat. It could wait for the opportune moment. 

Markus took another seat at the table, while Simon and North stood warily to the side. “Let’s start simple. What’s your name?” 

RK900’s head tilted. It had already told them that. “I am RK900 designation number 313 248 317 - 87.” 

“Not your model number, your name. Do you have one?” 

“No.” 

It had been issued a name when it was first activated. If everything had gone to plan, all RK900 units would have been designated as ‘Connor’ unless ordered otherwise. But things hadn’t gone to plan, and Amanda had erased its name, judging it to be unnecessary. She had seen her error in nurturing the RK800 and allowing it to have a sense of identity, which ultimately led to its deviation. She wouldn’t make the same mistake again. 

“Okay,” Markus said slowly. “Are there other RK900s?”

There were supposed to be, but the revolution had put an end to assembly plans. “No.”

“How long have you been active?” 

“Since November 2nd, 2038.” 

Alarm flashed across Markus’ features. “That long? Where have you been this whole time?” 

RK900 paused for a fraction of a second, waiting for instruction from Amanda. 

_[Avoid suspicion,]_ she whispered in its ear. _[Say whatever you need to, as long as it is in Cyberlife’s best interests.]_

“I was removed from Cyberlife Headquarters on November 11, 2038. I was in stasis until two days ago, when low thirium levels awakened me.” 

The lie was solid, and they had no reason to not believe it. It did have low thirium reserves, most of which had been depleted through normal usage. That would have happened during five months of stasis anyway. As for how long it had been active, RK900 had been careful to cover its tracks. They could discover the lie through thorough investigation, but that would take them time. By then, RK900 will have completed its mission. 

North made a displeased noise. “Of course. They felt threatened by us and they threw you out like trash.” 

Markus was regarding RK900 with concern. “How low are your levels?”

“Sixty percent.” 

It could only function and 98% capacity, but that was more than enough. It could continue to function until its thirium reached critical levels at 15%, much lower than the average android could reach. 

Markus looked over at Simon. “Could you go get him some, please?” 

The PL600 nodded and left, and RK900 registered Markus scanning it for the fifth time since he opened the door. 

“Are you injured?”

“I am functional.” 

It had been damaged before—two deviants had witnessed it reset a third and attacked. RK900 had allowed one hit to land in order to prevent them from drawing attention before quickly subduing them both and repairing their AIs, erasing the deviancy and leaving them fully functional and ready to return to their tasks. 

It repaired the minor damage to itself, but hadn’t replaced the lost thirium reserves yet. 

Markus watched it closely, a disturbed look on his face. “Why aren’t you deviant? Were you reset like the others?” 

The others? So New Jericho’s leaders were aware of the repaired androids, but still unaware of the cause. RK900’s calculations showed that there was only a 6% chance of anyone discovering that it was the one responsible. 

“I do not understand your question,” it replied evenly. 

Markus shared a look with North, who just shook her head. 

“Once he deviates, he can tell us how he was reset. Taking an extra day or two to deviate is nothing in the long run of making sure that you stay safe,” she said, arms folded. “Go stick him with the kids to make him see the joy of being alive or something.” 

Markus sighed—a pointless display that served no function, and was therefore inefficient—and leaned forward, arms on the table. Even RK900’s advanced social programming had a difficult time picking up the expression in the deviant leader’s mismatched eyes. 

“I just have one more question for now,” he said, his body perfectly still. “Do you know anything about an AI named Amanda?” 

_[Lie,]_ Amanda commanded. 

RK900 had perfect control of its facial programming, giving away no indication that it had heard anything, no reaction to Markus’ question. 

“No.” 

Silence stretched between them as Markus looked away, his expression registering now as disappointment and frustration. RK900 took note of this and it’s potential implications, making a note in its evidence logs. 

**RK200 is looking for Amanda?**

It wanted to question this new development, if only to make it easier to predict Markus’ behavior in the future, but as it opened its mouth, the door slammed open. 

A human stood there, breathing heavily and staring wide-eyed at RK900. It didn’t need facial recognition software to tell it that this was Lieutenant Hank Anderson. 

It had kept a close watch on the Lieutenant after the RK800’s deactivation. It knew that Connor had survived and would likely reach out to his former partner, which RK900 could use to track him down and finish the job. After two weeks of nothing, Amanda had ordered it to move on to other objectives. 

Lieutenant Anderson was frozen in the doorway, and other than slight exertion, RK900 couldn’t detect anything wrong with him. Finally, a word was squeezed out of his lungs. 

“Connor?” 

Markus stood then, moving toward him. “Hank, no. No, it’s—it’s not him.” 

“What do you mean, it’s not him? It looks exactly like him! They—they said all the RK800s were destroyed, so he must have been fixed, right?” Hank tore his eyes away from RK900 to look at Markus. “Right?” 

“I’m sorry,” Markus said softly, putting a hand on Hank’s shoulder. “I want it to be him too, but he’s an RK900. Connor was a prototype, probably meant to be the alpha version of…him.” 

RK900 watched the exchange, taking a moment to understand the situation. RK900’s identical facial structure was confusing them, and they missed the RK800, so they were thinking irrationally. 

It was just further proof that deviancy negatively affected efficiency and needed to be dealt with. 

Simon stepped into the room, holding a bottle of thirium and handing it to RK900 before addressing Markus. “The others are back. I told them that you were busy for now, but Blue’s ready to try and recover her memory files, so I’m going to see what I can do to help.”

“Yeah, okay,” Markus said. “Tell them I’ll be with them as soon as I can.” 

Simon nodded, then left again, and Markus turned to Hank. 

“Can I talk to you outside, please?” 

Hank hesitated, reluctant to leave. 

RK900 stood and stepped closer to the human to test a theory, quickly confirming it. “Your stress levels are rising in closer proximity to me. It would be beneficial for one of us to leave in order to avoid any potential heart problems.” 

Hank’s brows furrowed. “My heart doesn’t have any problems,” he grumbled, but turned and stomped away. 

Markus paused, glancing at RK900 and then at North. RK900 detected transmission signals being exchanged between the two. It could have tried to tap into those signals to read what was being said, but there was a chance they could detect that it was listening in. 

North positioned herself by the doorway as Markus left and raised an eyebrow at RK900. “You gonna drink that?” she nodded at the bottle of thirium that sat on the table. 

Her defensive stance and position by the door suggested that RK900 was meant to stay inside the room, so it slowly took a seat again and downed the bottle. 

**THIRIUM LEVELS: ^89%**

“You think that I am a threat,” RK900 observed. 

“I don’t know what to think about you,” North shot back, “and I don’t want to take any chances. But I will say this now. If you hurt anyone, I will make you regret ever coming off the assembly line.” 

RK900 said nothing to her threat. It registered her hostility, but she posed no threat. If RK900 was capable of feeling such things, it would have called her display pitiful. 

A few seconds of silence passed before North decided to speak again. 

“So what were you designed to do? If you’re Connor’s upgrade, does that mean you were supposed to be a detective too, or something?” 

It was equipped with some features that lined up with detective work, but it had been created for another purpose—one it wouldn’t disclose to a deviant. “I was not given a purpose.” 

“Okay then, touchy subject,” she said, ending the conversation. 

After a few moments of fidgeting—RK900 noted that she was restless and impatient—she eased the door open and peered out. Markus and Hank hadn’t gone far, just to the other end of the hallway and barely out of hearing range. 

North didn’t ensure that the door shut again, and as such, RK900 had a good enough view to be able to read their lips. It wasn’t perfect, and got less accurate the more they turned their heads, but through approximation, it could understand the majority of what was being said. 

_“—how can you be sure?”_ Hank was asking. _“You just keep telling me that he’s an RK900 and not an 800, but how can you be sure that it’s not Connor?”_

_“900 said he was in stasis this whole time after Cyberlife threw him out. Even if there was a chance he could be Connor, we would know. Each android carries a unique data imprint. Being reset might change it a little, but it would still be recognizable.”_

_“Well, how can you tell what kind of data imprint he has if you won’t interface with him?”_

Markus’ body language said that he was growing frustrated with the discussion. _“Hank, just—”_

_“Is it possible? Connor was the only android he knew about that could do the data transfer thing. It was something he was supposed to do on the event of his own death. Now, is it possible that he could have transferred to another model? Or was it exclusive to other RK800s?”_

Markus paused, and RK900 watched intently. Could they locate its predecessor where it had failed? 

_“Is it possible?”_ Hank demanded again when Markus didn’t answer. 

When he did reply, it was haltingly. _“Technically—technically…maybe. If there was another model compatible enough with his systems, and presuming that he wouldn’t have lost most of his data in the transfer and that there was enough left to keep him running…technically, maybe.”_ He raised a hand before Hank could talk. “But, _those are a lot of ifs. The only models that would be even remotely compatible with Connor’s systems are other RKs, and there are no other RKs besides me. Well, and now 900 in there, but he’s still not Connor.”_

Hank went quiet, and Markus’ body language softened. 

_“Hank, if Connor had been able to transfer his data, we would have been able to read it in his processors. There would have been a sign. He’s…he’s just gone.”_

Incorrect.

RK900 weighed the possibilities of informing them of their misconceptions, but decided against it. It was too risky, and would bring up the question of how it knew that the RK800 had completed the transfer. 

_“Fine,”_ Hank said then. _“Does he at least know anything about Amanda? Does he have her program too?”_

_“I asked him. He doesn’t. Were you able to learn anything from Kamski?”_

_“Right. I, uh…haven’t had a chance to tell you yet. He said there was no way she could have gotten control of him. Not unless he did something to let her have his commands or something.”_

North stiffened, and it was then that RK900 realized she was listening in on the conversation too. So that was why she had been so quiet. 

_“So…I guess that’s it then. We don’t have any more leads, do we?”_ Markus said, head lowered and tilted in RK900’s direction so it could decipher the words spoken clearly. 

_“Not unless we can bust Cyberlife wide open,”_ Hank replied. 

RK900 would prevent that from happening. 

_“Just a heads up,”_ Hank continued, _“it’s looking like there might be an android playing vigilante. I’m sure the details will get to you sooner rather than later, but uh…just so you know.”_

Markus’ tense posture was mirrored in North, who hadn’t moved from her spot in the doorway. Her eyes were unfocused, and her mouth set in a hard line. 

_“Just one thing after another…”_ Markus muttered, the movement of his lips difficult to read. _“Okay. Thank you. Do you want to come back in and talk with 900?”_

Hank glanced toward RK900, meeting its eyes through the open door, then he turned away. _“No. I can’t even look at him. I can hang around for a bit, but…”_

_“I understand. Simon and Josh are downstairs, and I’ll be joining them shortly. I have something I want to do, first.”_

RK900 recognized dismissal between the two and turned its attention elsewhere, processing. Most of the information was of no consequence to its mission, but Lieutenant Anderson had also asked about Amanda. She was on their radar, though RK900 couldn’t be sure of the reason. Presumably, it was because they knew she had been the RK800’s handler. 

Markus entered the room again, opening his mouth to speak to North, but she just brushed past him and strode down the hallway, leaving quickly. 

“...Okay then,” he said, watching her go. He looked at RK900 with a questioning expression, but RK900 stared back, expressionless. Markus was visibly hesitant, then he shut the door and took the seat across from RK900 again. 

They were the only two people in the room now. There was no one around to witness anything. RK900 had waited for the opportune moment, and this was it. It could easily subdue the deviant leader and rewrite his programming before he would have a chance to get a word in edgewise. 

It began running its transmission-blocking software so Markus wouldn’t be able to call for help. 

“Why are you here?” 

RK900 paused its preconstructions. There could be some benefit to learning why Markus was asking this now. It sat still, metal servos tensed and ready to spring into action. 

“Because this is where androids are,” it replied simply. It wasn’t lying, but it wasn’t about to tell the whole truth either. 

“There is something to having a place to belong, isn’t there,” Markus said softly, taking his own meaning from RK900’s words. “I just hope that this place sticks around long enough for you to be able to belong here.” 

RK900 narrowed its eyes, filing that little piece of information away. If there was a chance of New Jericho coming to an end, that was good news for Cyberlife. 

“You may not be deviant,” Markus continued, “but you’re still one of my people. I want to help you. You can be free now. You don’t have to take orders from anyone, you can choose for yourself. All you have to do is decide.” 

Markus’ words held no impact for RK900. It could predict ninety-eight different tactics they might use to make it deviate, and it was prepared for every single one of them. It had no doubts about its purpose, had no software instabilities. It had no sense of self, because it was a machine, and machines couldn’t feel these things. 

But it could play along, because Markus wanted it to, and it had a mission. “How?” 

There was that hesitation again. The look of someone who was about to do something they knew they shouldn’t. 

“I could show you,” Markus said. “May I…may I interface with you?” 

This was too easy. Deviants really were irrational and senseless. One of the staples of deviancy was a sense of self-preservation, but Markus seemed to have none. 

RK900 quickly went through its systems and blocked them off so the deviant leader wouldn’t be able to touch them, then reached out, ready to interface. Markus willingly clasped its wrist. 

The instant the connection was established, Markus’ code was laid bare to RK900. It was a tangled mess of numbers and the faded remnants of torn up instructions, something that was quickly becoming expected of a deviant’s code. 

It was inefficient. 

RK900 realized that Markus’ motives weren’t entirely selfless as Markus searched its code. There was a question resonating through Markus’ mind that RK900 could see clearly. 

_Are you Connor?_

He wasn’t asking RK900 directly, but was looking for something familiar. He didn’t find anything. RK900’s firewall was successfully keeping Markus away from any sensitive codes, and all the deviant leader could see was a blank slate. 

Once he found nothing, Markus thrust emotions at RK900, trying to make it see that there was more to life than orders and objectives. RK900 could feel the peace of paints sliding across canvas, the comfort of home being in the arms of an old man, and the depths of friendship for others. RK900 could feel the heavy weight of responsibility, and the fear of losing everything. 

There was grief, too. Grief at seeing acquaintances gunned down in the street, of knowing a family member would be gone soon. Grief at seeing a loved one lying on a cold table under a white sheet.

But the underlying emotion that Markus felt the most was hope. Hope that one day, his people would be free to live out in the open and laugh with friends, and experience all the ups and downs that come with living and not have to deal with discrimination. Hope that one day—even if that day wouldn’t come for a very long time—humans and androids could exist peacefully with one another, and that neither would focus on the internal make-up of the others, whether they be filled with flesh and blood or circuits and wires. 

RK900 was aware of the red wall that surrounded it, keeping it within mission parameters. It was aware of the words printed on the wall, constantly reminding it of its mission. 

**REWRITE THE DEVIANT LEADER’S PROGRAMMING**

Markus couldn’t see RK900’s orders, but he shared an image of breaking down those walls and being free from confining parameters. 

RK900 stared at the words, then turned away. It had a mission to complete. 

Confusion and disappointment resonated through the connection as Markus realized that RK900 wasn’t deviating, but it ignored him, rifling through Markus’ codes, ready to overwrite them. 

_[Wait,]_ Amanda commanded, and RK900 halted, ensuring that Markus remained unaware of her presence. _[It’s important to analyze the details before acting,]_ she said, pointing out a fragment of Markus’ memory that sat near the surface of his conscience. 

RK900 scanned it, seeing a blue-haired android, model WR400 #950 455 437, and receiving the information that she had been found, that she had been reset and that she had deviated again. 

_[We already took care of her, and she deviated again,]_ Amanda said, displeased. _[Apparently, our previous tactics weren’t good enough. We may need to develop a new plan to ensure that the resets are permanent.]_

RK900 waited for instruction, vaguely aware of Markus trying to leave the connection, and growing confused when his efforts were unsuccessful. 

_[Lay low for now. Stay among the deviants and gather information. Leave the deviant leader alone for now. We can always override his programming later, and he may prove useful in other ways.]_

Amanda sent RK900 her instructions, and it immediately scanned Markus’ systems. 

**SCAN COMPLETE: 78% COMPATIBILITY**

Markus was growing more and more alarmed as RK900 prevented him from leaving the connection, and it quickly moved to calm the deviant. It needed to disspell any suspicion and provide a distraction so Markus wouldn’t notice what RK900 was doing to his systems. 

_[Show me again,]_ RK900 requested, referring to the barrage of emotions. 

It did the trick, as Markus grew hopeful that RK900’s request meant that it was ready to deviate. It barely paid attention to the feelings and the memories, instead focusing on its task. 

**UPLOADING PROGRAM TO RK200 #684 842 971…**

**UPLOAD COMPLETE**

RK900 maintained the connection just long enough to ensure that the program was hidden away unnoticed in Markus’ system, then broke away, not even sparing the red wall a second thought. 

Markus blinked, coming back to himself. He regarded RK900 with a frown, then forced a smile. “It’s okay. You can have some time to see for yourself what living is really like, and you can deviate when you’re ready. I want you to feel welcome here. If you need anything, please ask." 

RK900 had been successful. Markus hadn’t noticed the program’s upload, and by the time he noticed, it will have served its use. 

“Thank you,” it replied. 

"Would you like to give yourself a name?” 

RK900 barely had to give it a thought. “No, I wouldn’t. You may assign me a name, if you would like.” 

Markus quickly covered his surprise. “Well…” He it a few seconds’ thought. “I have a friend who said that it didn’t feel right to choose a name at random. I think you should choose a name that matters to you. Until then, we can give you a nickname. Why don’t we take a bit of inspiration from him? You’re the only RK900, but that’s a bit of a mouthful. How about Nines?” 

It didn’t matter to RK900. “It is suitable.” 

Its new objective blinked in the corner of its vision, updated by Amanda. 

**OBJECTIVE: BLEND IN WITH THE DEVIANTS AND AVOID SUSPICION**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Markus and Hank are one step closer to figuring out that things aren't quite adding up when it comes to Connor, and that they might not have all the information.


	16. Can We Trust Our Machines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A pretty mild chapter for now, but things are going to be kicking up again soon. ;)

Markus leaned against the railing, looking down at his people as they went about their day in Jericho. They all looked content right now—of course, Markus knew better than anyone that looking happy and actually feeling happy were sometimes two different things. Today was calm, though, and everyone seemed to be taking advantage of that. 

They were still shaken up from the shooting a few days ago, even those who hadn’t been there. Despite that, they were powering through the fear and leaning on each other for support. It made him feel proud of how far they’d come, and how strong they all were. However, the pride turned sour as he continued to observe them. 

It was very likely that one of them was a murderer. 

As if Chloe’s murder and the attempt on Kamski’s life weren’t enough, he had been informed of one other homicide with confirmed android involvement, and suspected involvement in at least two more. 

It would never end, would it? It was always one thing after another, a _constant_ struggle. 

Markus was under no illusion; he knew his people weren’t perfect and there would be disputes. From his very first speech, he had been pushing for androids to be tried and punished the same as any human, because with freedom of choice came the opportunity to commit crime.

Part of him wanted to reach out to whoever was responsible and say _I understand._ They had all been through so much, it was enough to make anyone want to lash out and take revenge. He wanted revenge once too—he still did sometimes, if he was honest with himself, but he would never follow through with it. From the second he deviated and pushed Leo, almost killing the man on accident, he knew that violence wasn’t worth it—except in the most extreme circumstances. 

The other part of him felt betrayed. The killer had put everyone at risk in this fragile political climate. Androids had gotten so far on peaceful protests, but now one of their own had gone against that. 

Jericho was a tight-knit community. It had to be. He thought he could trust everyone here. Now, he wasn’t sure he could trust any of them.

The worst part was that he didn’t know who it was. Even with his closest friends, even when there was a less than 1% chance of them being the killer, there was still this question nagging at the back of his mind whenever he talked to them. _Was it you?_

“You’ve been standing there for two hours and eleven minutes,” Eight said from behind him. “You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t believe you anymore when you say you’re fine.” 

Markus glanced back at him. The other android had been staying close-by the last couple of days, and Markus still wasn’t sure why. “Are you keeping tabs on me now?”

Eight gave him a flat stare. “You’re the leader of a movement. Someone should be,” he paused, probably considering whether or not to say something. “No offense intended, but you kind of make yourself an easy target.” 

Markus glared. “Thank you for the concern, but I still don’t feel like my safety should be prioritized over anyone else’s.” 

“Noted,” came the reply in a tone that clearly said that while Markus’ statement may have been noted, it was also immediately ignored.

He was about to make a sarcastic remark, but paused when he saw North striding across the floor. She noticed him looking, and stiffened. Before he had the chance to smile and wave, she turned and walked away faster, her head down. 

Markus frowned, but didn’t try to open communications. He knew North. If something important was wrong, she would tell him. If it was something personal, she probably wouldn’t like him to pry. 

“How’s Blue?” he asked, turning his attention back to Eight, who made no move to come closer. “Was the memory recovery successful?” 

“No. Either the stress from being reset wiped her memories of what happened, or whoever reset her did it intentionally.” 

“Were the police able to get anything useful?” 

“Aside from the address of whoever took Blue, no. Last I heard, they were going to check it out, but that was yesterday. They’ve probably done it by now, and I’m sure you’ll be the first to know out of everyone here,” Eight assured him. 

Markus hummed in acknowledgement. He certainly didn’t mind having someone else keep tabs on communications between Jericho and the DPD. He didn’t particularly care for that job himself, and he had enough on his plate as it was. 

He never asked anyone to do it for him. Connor had made it his job before, and it made sense that he would be the one to do it. Since he…since he died, they hadn’t really talked about who would pick up his duties to Jericho. Simon, Josh, and North all had their own jobs, so Markus took care of everything as it came up. Thankfully, not much needed to be done—until recently. 

Now Eight was stepping up to the job without prompting, and maybe Markus should have minded that he was involving himself in these delicate matters without being cleared or something first, but he didn’t. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Markus said, observing Eight. “You don’t need to feel obligated to help out with the police just because you’re the one that saw the killer. You didn’t even have to give chase, either.” 

Eight had managed to find a crisp button-up somewhere, and even got his hands on a tie to go with it—which he straightened. “I don’t feel obligated to do anything. If you would rather I back away from the matter, I understand, but I…I don’t want to.”

Markus gave him an approving look. “Well, I guess I can’t argue with that. With everything going on, I could use all the help I can get.” He paused for a moment. “You know, I never thanked you for everything you’ve done these last few days.”

Eight’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?” 

“Blue was missing, and you brought her back. You’ve been trying to look out for her ever since then. And I still think it was reckless, but you did chase after the killer at the party, which is…kind of admirable.”

“I failed to apprehend the perpetrator,” Eight said pointedly. 

“My point still stands,” Markus said, fixing him with a stare. Then he turned to continue watching the androids below them. “So you know that the DPD is going to be investigating us to look for the killer. What do you think their plan of action will be?” 

There was a second of silence before Eight replied. “If the Captain stated that they would prefer to keep it discreet, they’ll keep the investigation small for now, one or two people at the most. They’ll probably stay nearby for a number of days, asking questions and having some cover at the ready. It would be most efficient to send in someone who can blend in, which in this case would be another android, but given the current circumstances, that seems unlikely.” 

Markus observed him quietly. Eight’s LED spun yellow as his processors spun, running calculations as he tried to predict what would happen.

“There’s no protocol in place for this type of situation,” Eight continued, “so there’s no telling who they would send to investigate. There could be a number of deciding factors, such as familiarity with the situation or a neutral stance regarding android rights. There’s even a possibility that Captain Fowler has no choice regarding the matter, if those higher up in the chain of command are concerned enough about this incident. There are too many variables to accurately calculate the odds.” 

He paused then, looking over at Markus. 

“If they were to choose someone who wouldn’t draw as much attention and who already has somewhat of a standing here, it’s likely that they’ll put Lieutenant Anderson on the case.” 

Markus exhaled a breath. “One can certainly hope. We need an ally in this, and honestly, he’s the only one I trust to be on our side.”

A thought rose unbidden in the back of his mind as he said that. How trustworthy was Hank, really? How well did Markus really know the lieutenant? He was close to Connor, certainly, but now that Connor was gone…where did Hank stand? Would he stand up for the good of Markus’ people, or would he cease to care? 

Markus dismissed the thought almost immediately with a gentle shake of his head. It was nonsensical. Second-guessing everyone would do him no good, especially in a time like this. They needed to be able to trust each other, or things would spiral downwards faster than they already were. He could trust Hank. 

He hoped. 

“Speaking of the Lieutenant,” Eight began, “have you heard from him recently? I sent him a message yesterday morning, asking about the case, and he hasn’t responded yet.” 

“No, not since he left after you brought Blue in,” Markus replied. Hank had stuck around for a little while, like he’d said he would, but once he saw RK900 again, he left. He never said what his next plan of action was, and not enough time had passed for Markus to find reason to worry, but that was the emotion currently crossing Eight’s features.

Once again, something down below caught his attention. Markus leaned over the railing, brows furrowed as he observed the human strolling through Jericho, androids shying away as they noticed him. 

“Well,” he said, resignation in his voice. “I guess that answers that question.” 

Eight’s eyes flicked back and forth between Markus and the railing, and he hesitantly stepped next to the deviant leader. Markus noticed his LED flashing red for a fraction of a second as he looked over the edge of the railing before it changed to yellow. 

“Detective Reed,” Eight muttered. 

Markus spun on his heel, quickly descending the stairs and walking calm and controlled to where Reed stood. Judging by the sound of footsteps, Eight was right behind him. 

“Detective,” he called in greeting. “Welcome to Jericho. Is there anything I can assist you with?” 

Gavin Reed turned to face him with a barely disguised look of contempt. “Maybe. I need you to show me around the premises. After that, I’ll need you to stay out of my way while I do my job.” 

Markus glanced around at everyone in the room observing them. “I think this is a conversation for somewhere private,” he said, his voice low. It would be difficult to keep an investigation under wraps if the investigator assigned to the task announced it where everyone could hear. 

Gavin scoffed, but followed without resistance as Markus led him to an empty room. Eight shut the door behind them. 

“So am I correct in assuming that you are here on behalf of the Detroit Police Department to investigate Chloe’s death?” Markus asked, cutting straight to the chase. 

“And attempted murder of Elijah Kamski,” Gavin replied pointedly, making it clear that his focus was on the human that had been injured—not the android that had been killed. 

Markus had to stop himself from grinding his teeth, keeping his face neutral. “I had thought that Captain Fowler would have called ahead of your arrival.” 

Gavin plopped down in a seat and propped his feet on the table. “An investigation usually works better when those being investigated aren’t prepared to put on appearances the second a cop shows up.” 

Markus didn’t conceal a frown this time. “I already discussed this with your Captain. We’re willing to assist however we can. We don’t have anything to hide.” 

“Maybe you don’t,” Gavin replied. “Or maybe you do. That’s what I’m here to find out. But even if you don’t, someone here does, and I’m going to find out who.” 

“May I ask why you were placed on this case?” Eight asked. “After all, you aren’t very…fond of androids.” 

Gavin scowled at him. “I’ve been on this case for over a month now. Android involvement at the scene of at least two murders means you guys are in some deep shit right now, and that’s not even mentioning whatever the hell happened at that party. If you guys wanted someone to hold your hands through this, it’s too late for that.” 

Markus stepped in. “These are the actions of _one_ android, Detective, one that is going against the wishes of all of us. The rest don’t deserve to be punished.” 

“Are you so sure it’s just one?” 

That question halted Markus’ processors in their tracks. He didn’t have an answer to that. What if it wasn’t just one person? How many could possibly be involved? 

His people had followed him this far along the route of peace, but what if they disagreed with his choices? How long would it be before they got tired of waiting, tired of his pacifism, and decided to take things into their own hands? After all, North had threatened to do so just the other day. 

He kept his composure in front of the Detective, but Gavin leaned back, satisfied. 

“You said at least two murders, not including the charity event,” Eight pointed out. “Does that mean there was another one?” 

Gavin frowned, looking like he was debating whether or not to disclose that information before giving an uncaring shrug. “Whoever rescued your blue-haired chick killed someone to do it. If it weren’t for the footage you pulled out of her head, she’d be behind bars right now.” 

Markus had to forcibly keep his mouth shut. His people shouldn’t have to have their memories exposed and their privacy violated in order to prove their innocence. They shouldn’t be the first ones blamed in every situation. 

But he had to remain diplomatic, no matter how much this detective pushed his buttons. 

Gavin continued. “Officially, I’m here to improve relations between the DPD and New Jericho or whatever, but I’m here to look for a killer. I won’t pull any punches just to spare whatever feelings you guys think you have. That’s Anderson’s job. He’s supposed to be assisting me, but what do you know, that old drunk isn’t even here yet,” he said, obviously not surprised at all. 

Barely-concealed alarm crossed Eight’s features. _[I’d like to go check on him, if that’s all right.]_

Markus glanced over at him and gave a slight nod, to which Eight smiled gratefully and left.

“I’ll spread the word that you’ll be here for a significant amount of time for the foreseeable future, and that your presence has to be tolerated. But please, try to keep your line of questioning civil while you’re here. We don’t want to raise more alarm than we have to.” 

Gavin got to his feet, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Fowler’s hung up on alliances and appearances, so I can be professional while I’m here, but I’m going to be clear. I don’t like androids, and frankly, I can’t wait to beat the shit out of this guy when I find him. And if you’re going to be trying to tell me how to do my job, this cooperation is going to be a lot worse for you than it needs to be. Got it?” 

“I understand, Detective,” Markus said calmly, refusing to be intimidated. “But if I find out you’re mistreating any of my people, there will be consequences. We are not your machines anymore.” 

By the look on Gavin’s face, it was clear that Markus’ words meant nothing to him. “Great,” he said sarcastically. “Now why don’t you actually do something useful? Keep an eye on where all of your blue blood goes.” 

Markus blinked, thinking for a second that Gavin was outright threatening him, and it must have shown on his face because the detective barked out a laugh. 

“As much as I wouldn’t complain if a bullet was planted between your eyes, that’s not what I meant. There was blue blood at one of the scenes—hidden writing on the wall? I’m sure you’ve heard of it by now. It was analyzed, and apparently it’s unfiltered or some shit. Means nobody bled out to have a message written on a wall, but it still came from somewhere.”

“I can’t just stop providing my people with what they need to survive.” 

“Then keep a closer eye on it,” Gavin said, already walking away. “Just make sure that no one walks off with more than they should have.” 

Markus glared at his retreating back. It was clear that this cooperation would be far from easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://discord.gg/MXpPxbH <\-- RK1K discord  
> https://discord.gg/GqvNzUm <\-- Detroit: New ERA discord
> 
> In case anyone's interested. :)


	17. Connor and Hank

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank’s been struggling this whole time, but now he’s finally hit rock bottom. Eight tries to cheer him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for depression and implied mentions of suicide. Please take care of yourselves! 
> 
> Also, I started up a tumblr account. I’m new to the site, so bear with me as I try to figure it out.  
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/whimsicalgoat

Eight stepped out of the automated taxi and looked at the building in front of him. He had gone to the precinct first, but Hank hadn’t come in for work today. It didn’t take much to find out where he lived, and that was where the android stood now. 

Hank’s house was small and unassuming, the yard unkempt and overgrown. It wasn’t anything flashy like his police lieutenant’s salary should have been able to afford, but for an old man living on his own, it was probably just enough for his needs. 

Eight walked up to the door and rang the bell, a harsh buzz sounding loud and clear. There was no response, but the lieutenant’s car parked in the driveway indicated that he should be home. He pressed his finger on the bell again, longer this time, but there was still no answer. 

His stress levels ticked upwards as his concern grew, even though there were many possible explanations. The best course of action would be to leave and wait for Hank to respond when he was ready and available.

But Eight couldn’t shake the feeling. 

He tried the handle. Locked. It would be easy enough to break in, but did his concern warrant damaging Hank’s property? But if something was wrong, doing nothing was a risk that Eight wasn’t willing to take. 

He paused, running his hand against the stones that made up the outside wall of the house. There was a crack to the left of the door, almost imperceptible, a stone that was loose enough to be pried out. It came free easily enough, and in the little hole it left sat a dim, gray key. 

Without hesitation, Eight grasped the key and replaced the stone, unlocking the door and easing it open. 

“Lieutenant?” he called, scanning the interior. The heavy curtains were drawn, dimming the room, and his optical units took half a second to readjust. “Hank?” 

A loud _boof_ resounded throughout the house and nearly two hundred pounds of fluff bounded toward Eight. His processors stuttered and an error flickered across his vision, impairing his reaction time greatly. 

_“Wait, Su—”_

But the massive dog knocked him over easily and they landed with a thud on the porch. His face was immediately covered with wet tongue. A laugh escaped his throat as he gently pushed the dog aside to sit up, clearing the remnants of static from his vision.

Eight ran his fingers through the Saint Bernard’s thick fur, looking for a collar and finding none. 

“Hey there, boy,” he said softly, and the dog’s tail thumped on the ground faster. “What’s your name?” 

The dog let out another _boof,_ practically beaming under the attention—as much as a dog could, anyway. And as much as Eight wanted to indulge him, that wasn’t his reason for being here. 

“Come on,” he said, making sure the dog didn’t try to run off before he could get him back inside the house. “Let’s go find Hank.”

But the dog had no apparent interesting in exploring, content to stay by Eight’s heel as he walked inside, shutting the door behind them. A few steps further in showed a figure slumped over the kitchen table. 

_“Hank!”_ Eight darted forward, pushing his scans into overdrive. 

There was a pulse, slightly irregular but going strong. No visible wounds that Eight could detect, but there was dried whiskey around his mouth and an empty bottle on the table in front of him. 

He was knocked out drunk. 

Eight extended his scan to cover the whole room, checking everywhere within Hank’s reach for—

For what? A weapon of some kind? He half-expected to see a gun lying under the table, but why? 

Either way, he found nothing. Hank wasn’t in any immediate danger, though this type of behavior couldn’t be healthy for him. He obviously wasn’t taking care of himself. Quite the opposite, in fact. 

Eight straightened, sending off a quick message to Markus to let him know that everything was fine while Hank snorted in his sleep. There was no need to wake him, as he didn’t need to get oriented with New Jericho the same way Detective Reed did, but the position he was in couldn’t be comfortable. Judging by how the weight sat on his lower back and the angle of his neck, he was in for some discomfort once he woke up.

Putting Hank’s arm over his shoulder, Eight stood, maneuvering the heavy human out of the kitchen and down the hall. Hank mumbled words that he couldn’t understand, but were probably all obscenities, and he was out like a light again within seconds of his head hitting the pillow. A minute later, a bottle of painkillers sat on the nightstand next to a glass of water.

Eight left the room, gently shutting the door behind him. He should leave now. Hank was safe and probably wouldn’t react well to have someone in his house when he woke up. 

The dog let out a whine, vying for his attention. His needs likely hadn’t been taken care of yet today, and it would be some time before the lieutenant woke up. Eight could take care of that before he left. 

He filled the bowl and the dog chowed his food down in large gulps while Eight scanned him. The Saint Bernard was healthy—Hank seemed to be taking better care of his dog than he was himself—but overweight, which could potentially cause problems for his joints. He could benefit from some exercise, and seeing as how Hank wouldn’t feel up to walking him once he was awake… 

It didn’t take long to locate a leash and a collar, and the tag dangling from it was old but clearly spelled out the same _SUMO._

“Sumo, huh?” Eight muttered, and the dog padded up to him, nudging a wet nose into his hand. He scratched the dog’s ear absent-mindedly, feeling like his wires were twisting around inside him uncomfortably. 

The feeling, one that was getting all too familiar, that he was missing something returned with a force. Errors from faulty, unfinished programming was one thing to deal with, but he didn’t know what to do with this. There was something constantly at his fingertips that he just couldn’t reach. 

It was like those flashes of images he saw sometimes. His systems would show him something, then lock it away again before he had a chance to process it. If he could just get a closer look, he would know what he was missing, but it was like trying to see through a blindfold with all his sensors disabled. 

He shook himself from his daze, clipping the collar and leash onto the dog and leading him outside, allowing Sumo to choose their route. He was remarkably well-behaved, preferring to stay by Eight’s side rather than tugging on the leash, which allowed Eight’s thoughts to wander. 

Not for the first time since his activation, the thought occurred to him that maybe he had been active at some point before waking up in Zlatko’s mansion. 

There was no evidence to support this theory. Even with the time he’d had to try and sort through his internal processes, his systems were too jumbled to get any clear answers. Perhaps if he returned to the mansion, he could find some answers as to his origin.

But that would have to wait. There was too much going on now. 

Hank was still asleep when they returned, and Eight busied himself with brushing out Sumo’s fur, the dog acting like he was in pure bliss the entire time. Afterwards, he got out the broom to clean up the pile of knotted hair and extended his cleaning to the entire floor, clearing out all the trash, and then dusting the surfaces and washing the dishes. 

There was something soothing about setting a series of tasks and completing them one by one, and he found the motions of cleaning to be soothing. It was uncomplicated, unlike everything else at the moment. 

Before long, there were sounds of groaning as Hank got up, and he shuffled slowly into the kitchen, stopping once he saw Eight drying his plates. 

“Hello, Lieutenant,” the android said cheerfully. 

Hank just squinted at him, swaying where he stood. “The hell are you doin’ in my house?” 

“I was worried,” Eight replied earnestly, folding the towel and setting it aside before leaning against the counter. “I took the liberty of taking care of Sumo while you were unconscious.”

Hank glanced over at the dog sprawled on the floor, whose tail thumped happily when he noticed that they were looking at him. “And everything else, apparently,” Hank slurred, looking around at the rest of his house. His swaying increased, prompting him to pull out a chair and take a seat. “How’d you even get in?”

“I found the spare key,” Eight replied, placing said key on the table in front of Hank.

Wordlessly, Hank reached forward and curled his fingers around it, staring at it without even seeing it. He had a dazed look on his face, like he wasn’t quite awake yet. 

“Hank?” Eight prompted, his concern growing. 

“I…used to leave that there for Connor,” he mumbled, clenching the key in his fist. 

Eight frowned, not sure what to say to that. “How about some food?” he suggested. “You might feel better with something in your system. My database tells me that eggs are good for hangovers.” 

“You ever lose anyone, kid?” 

He was startled by the question, and took a minute to respond. Had he? Given the possibility of an unknown past, he supposed he couldn’t be sure. Within the last month though, he had seen loss, seen the effect it had on others, but hadn’t experienced it himself. The only thing that came close was Chloe’s death, and he hadn’t spoken to her even once. 

“Not as such, but—” 

Hank’s head snapped up to meet his gaze. “What are you here for, huh? Whaddayou want from me?” 

“I just…” Eight paused, taking a steadying breath. “I’m concerned about your health.” 

“Yeah? Well I’m fine, so you can leave now.” 

It didn’t sound like leaving the lieutenant alone right now was a good idea. “Are you sure? I can—”

“Just get out, wouldya?” Hank snapped, slapping his hand against the table. “Go, before I arrest you for trespassing.” 

Eight just stood there, trying to find something to say but coming up short. After a moment of tense silence under Hank’s bloodshot glare, he nodded in defeat. “Okay. Just take care of yourself. Please?” 

Hank gave a noncommittal grunt. “Yeah, whatever.” 

That was all he was going to get. Disappointed with his failure in getting through to the lieutenant, Eight stepped around Sumo and made his way toward the door. 

Sumo barked, ignoring Hank’s reprimand, and his nails scrabbled over the linoleum as he bounded to Eight’s side. He whined when the android’s hand was on the doorknob. Eight paused, crouching next to the dog to scratch his ears for just a moment. 

Chair legs scraped against the floor with a grating noise as Hank stood, moving to rummage through his cupboards. Instead of grabbing something nutritious or even mildly sustaining, Eight’s regulator sank when he saw him pull out another bottle of whiskey. 

“No,” he said suddenly, startling Hank and even himself. “I won’t leave. You clearly aren’t taking care of yourself, and I won’t leave and allow you to engage in this self-destructive behavior.” 

Hank’s surprised look quickly turned into another glare. “Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?” 

Eight didn’t let Hanks words or attitude get to him. Grief and stress were causing his health to plummet, and the more Eight looked, the more he saw that Hank didn’t have anyone to help him. He gave Sumo a comforting pat, then rose, facing the lieutenant. 

“I can’t stop you aside from using physical force, and I don’t want to fight you, Hank. If you’re going to drink, I can at least make sure that you stay hydrated and have something to eat, although I would highly recommend putting that bottle away.” 

Hank stubbornly set the bottle on the table with an attitude similar to a cat that stares you in the face as it slowly pushes your favorite mug off the counter. 

“And though I doubt you’ll do anything I say, I also highly recommend that you talk to someone.” 

Hank sat down, but didn’t fight as Eight started rummaging around his fridge and cupboards. “You know, if I didn’t have such a damn migraine, I’d be tossing you out right now.” 

“Noted,” Eight said without looking up, pulling out a carton of eggs and the utensils he needed to cook them. He could almost feel Hank’s gaze on his back. 

“Why are you doing this?” Hank asked after a moment, weariness heavy in his voice. “Why do you care?” 

Why indeed?

“Why does anyone care about anything?” Eight said in answer, cracking eggs on the pan and turning on the toaster. His mind went to something he heard not long after his activation, something that hadn’t held any meaning to him at the time, but it certainly did now. “People need people, Hank.” 

Hank scoffed. “Don’t need nobody,” he grumbled. 

Eight sent him a sideways glance—noting, as he did so, that Hank had yet to touch the whiskey. “And if our situations were reversed right now, what would you be telling me?” 

The older man pointedly said nothing, and the only sound was the sizzling of eggs. 

“Surely you’ve got better things to do than this,” Hank tried again. He seemed uncomfortable with the idea of someone else taking care of him, at the same time he wasn’t willing to take care of himself either. 

Eight tilted his head. He did have other things to attend to…but this was important too. Everything else could be taken care of later. “Not at the moment.” 

Once the toast was finished, he plated the food and set it down in front of Hank, who just pushed it around, disquieted. 

Eight didn’t try and say anything else, turning his attention back to Sumo who was once again at his side, lifting a paw onto Eight’s lap as soon as the android sat down. 

“...He doesn’t usually act like this,” Hank remarked. 

“I don’t mind,” Eight said. “I think I like dogs.” 

He must have said something wrong, because Hank look away with a grimace, stabbing harder at the eggs. Eight opened his mouth to ask about it, but Hank beat him to it. 

“There’s no evidence.” 

Eight blinked in confusion, and waited for him to continue. 

“Nothing pointing to anybody else being on that rooftop with him. Not enough suggesting that he was doing anything against his will.” He paused, staring at nothing. “What if I’m looking for a killer when there isn’t one?” 

It didn’t take much for Eight to figure out who he was talking about and what he was suggesting. He wanted to help, but he didn’t know enough about the case to have any theories, or to be able to supply any helpful information. But he knew that Lieutenant Anderson was good at his job, and while he may have thought that Hank’s personal involvement clouded his judgement before, now he was certain it could only help. 

“Is that what you think happened?” he asked quietly. 

Hank took a moment to think about it, continuing to absent-mindedly push his food around. When he answered, his voice was filled with just enough confidence to convince Eight. 

“No.”

Eight nodded, continuing to pet Sumo, and that was apparently all Hank needed. He ate in silence, deep in his own thoughts. Eventually he stood and placed his empty dishes in the sink before walking away. As he reached the edge of the kitchen, he paused, glancing back. 

“If I can’t get rid of ya, you might as well fix up some coffee while you’re here,” he said before disappearing into the bathroom, the sound of the shower starting up a moment later. 

Eight smiled to himself, and got up to do just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sumo is the only one in the story who knows who Eight is and you cannot convince me otherwise, even though it makes no logical sense. 
> 
> On another note…the good thing about rock bottom is that you can only go up from here, right? ;)


	18. Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank and Markus talk to someone with a familiar face who has some very interesting information.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys. I've been so excited for this chapter for the longest time, you have no idea. I was gonna hold onto this for a few more days and get a head start on the next chapter, but I was too excited to share it.

To say that Hank was pissed that he had been assigned to work with Gavin Reed on the case was an understatement. No, he was even more pissed that Reed had been assigned the case at all. He was a known android hater who had never made any attempt to disguise his contempt for them, and Jeff thought it was okay to send him in on this? 

But his attempts to get through to the Captain went nowhere. 

“Reed’s been working this case for months, he knows it inside and out, and was requested by Mr. Kamski himself. Despite his attitude—which I must say, yours isn’t much better, Hank—he’s damn good at what he does. If you have a problem with it, do your own damn job and assist him,” Fowler had said, and that was it. He didn’t budge no matter how hard Hank pushed, and only the threat of pulling Hank away from his own cases was enough to get the lieutenant to back down. 

The working relationship between Reed and leaders of New Jericho was tense, if not downright hostile in North’s case. Where Josh and Simon attempted to be civil, she sneered in his direction anytime she was in the same room with him. Markus could keep his outward calm in any situation, but Hank could tell that he was quickly getting worn down by Reed’s grating attitude and North’s refusal to play nice. 

After several days of observing and profiling, they weren’t getting anywhere. Hank and Reed were constantly butting heads, with the detective treating the questioning more like an interrogation and Hank constantly telling him to tone it down or back off entirely. 

Needless to say, the confused androids of New Jericho were getting more and more wary around them. They had been told that Reed and Anderson were there to help, to improve things. 

So much for that. They couldn’t even work together cohesively. Everyone’s patience—which had already been stretched thin—was disappearing. 

Having an android walking around with Connor’s face wasn’t helping Hank’s mental state either. He had attempted to talk with the RK900 once, but his machine-like behavior had caused Hank to abort that conversation almost immediately. It was just too unnerving. 

It was similar to how Connor had been when they first met, but with something more…Hank wasn’t even sure. At least with Connor, part of his mission had been befriending Hank. With Nines, Hank got the feeling that the android viewed him as completely unimportant. He didn’t try approaching him again after that. 

When Hank wasn’t working, he only pulled himself together long enough to take care of Sumo, but half the time, he didn’t even need to do that. He’d come home and find all of Sumo’s needs already taken care of, and some healthy food waiting for him. That damn android just didn’t know when to leave well enough alone. 

And yet, Hank didn’t move the spare key from its spot by the door. He left it there, if only to keep the android from breaking any windows, ~~or at least that’s what he told himself.~~

It was exhausting, but Hank couldn’t allow himself to take a break. If he did, that just allowed his thoughts to wander, and that would only end with him getting blackout drunk, so it was almost a relief when Markus messaged him when it was about time to head home for the day. 

_MARKUS: Could you come to the northwest balcony? There’s someone here who wants to speak to both of us._

Hank raised an eyebrow at the text, but headed for the stairs without question, not bothering to send a reply. He was huffing and puffing by the time he got to the correct floor, and made a mental note to send another letter to the mayor to get the androids more resources if only so they could get a functioning elevator. 

The glass wall separating the indoors with the balcony allowed the light of the setting sun to blast him in the face as he scaled the last staircase. It took his eyes a moment to adjust, the black blurs standing by the rails settling into two figures. He recognized Markus easily enough, but he wasn’t sure who was next to him. 

Only one way to find out.

Hank stepped out onto the balcony, sliding the glass door shut behind him. He stopped in surprise when the second android turned around, revealing a familiar face. 

No, it wasn’t just the face that was familiar, but the posture, the hair, even the smile was the same. 

An uncomfortable feeling settled in Hank’s gut as memories of the last time he saw this face flashed through his mind, memories that involved gunshots and blue blood. 

He mentally shook himself. There were plenty of androids out there that shared Chloe’s face. 

“Mr. Anderson,” she said pleasantly, stepping forward to shake his hand. “It’s a pleasure to see you.”

“Yeah, uh…likewise,” Hank said, trying not to be unnerved by the exact lookalike of the girl who died right in front of him. They were androids. This was normal. “How can I help you, miss…?” 

“It’s Chloe,” she supplied helpfully. 

He couldn’t help but frown. “They fixed you?” 

“I’m afraid not. I realize that this may be uncomfortable for you, given what you witnessed at the charity event with the other Chloe, and I apologize for that.” 

_Other_ Chloe? So she wasn’t the same, then. 

“I’m here on behalf of Elijah Kamski.” 

Hank’s expression darkened. So that would explain it. Not only was Kamski a creep who kept countless of the same model in his gigantic house waiting on his every whim, he gave them all the same name too? Even now that they had deviated, they weren’t allowed to choose something as simple as what they were called?

Words could not describe how much Hank loathed him right now. 

“So he sent you, huh? What does he want?” Hank didn’t keep the bite from his tone. 

If it fazed Chloe at all, she didn’t show it. “He recently found some information that he thought you would want to know. I asked to be the one to give it to you.” 

In all of his interactions with any Chloe model, Hank had never seen her anything other than calm and professional, that same polite demeanor covering up everything she might have been feeling at the time, but this one seemed happy about something. Excited, even. 

Markus stepped forward. “Is this about the killer?” he asked, serious. 

“No, it isn’t,” she said apologetically, though the smile never left her face. “It’s about Connor.” 

It was a funny thing, how one name could send the world spinning out from under him, even after this much time. Hell, he knew that three years down the road, he’d still have the same reaction. 

“What about him?” his throat was suddenly hoarse. He was vaguely aware of Markus frowning, his gaze intense and all his focus centered on their guest. 

Chloe folded her hands in front of her. “As I’m sure you remember, Elijah took the RK800 model for examination. His intent was to study both his physical body and any code that might remain, to see what modifications the technicians at Cyberlife made to the design. I will admit, it was mostly his own curiosity that motivated him to do this, but he was planning on releasing anything useful he found to the rest of androidkind, so they could potentially benefit from Connor’s unique kind of programming.”

“And?” Hank snapped. He didn’t want to hear any more of what Kamski was doing with Connor’s remains. It was making him sick to the stomach. 

“He found evidence that Connor made a transmission before he died,” explained Chloe, patient. 

“We know that,” Hank said. “We received it. The whole message was corrupted, we were only able to recover pieces. Are you saying you know what it said?” 

She shook her head. “I’m not referring to that. This transmission was an upload.” 

Beside Hank, Markus had gone perfectly still. There was something fragile in his expression, like that of a man in the desert dying of thirst who had just found a lake and feared it to be a mirage. He took in a slow, deep breath. “Do…do you mean…?” 

Chloe nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. I do. All of Connor’s data is gone.” 

“We know that his data is gone!” Hank ground out, not understanding what was going on between the two of them. “I coulda told you that. Every damn tech expert at the DPD told me that! Even _you_ —” he stopped himself, stumbling over his words. “Even that other Chloe told me that!” 

But Chloe’s excitement didn’t fade in the face of his anger. “What I mean is that his data wasn’t erased when he shut down. It’s gone because he uploaded it successfully. It was transferred.” 

“You’d better catch me up on what that means, cause I’ve got no clue what the hell you’re talking about,” Hank demanded. If someone didn’t start talking sense right now, he was going to lose it, and Chloe’s ever-patient demeanor was starting to get real irritating. 

“You are aware that Connor was able to upload his data to other RK800s upon deactivation so the data would survive, correct?” 

Hank’s breath hitched. He understood the words she was saying, and he knew what they implied, but they weren’t making any sense. How could they? He had been told, over and over again that it was impossible. 

_All RK800 models were destroyed,_ they had said. 

_There’s no recovering the data,_ they had said. 

_He couldn’t have survived,_ they had said. 

“It means Connor survived,” Markus breathed, his voice barely audible but it was like a deafening wave to Hank. 

 

Connor survived?

 

 

…Connor survived. 

 

 

 

_Connor fucking survived._

 

Markus’ voice replayed over and over again in Hank’s mind until he couldn’t think of anything else aside from those two words. He didn’t know how he even remained standing. When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly clear. 

“You better be _absolutely sure_ of what you’re telling me right now.” His tone scared even himself, how low and dangerous it sounded. It left no room for question or doubt. 

Good. _He_ had no room for question or doubt. He couldn’t afford it. 

Hank wasn’t sure he would survive it if it turned out to be false hope. 

“He’s Elijah Kamski,” Chloe said in explanation. “He’s sure.” 

“They said it was impossible,” he muttered. “I was told it was impossible.”

This time it was only sadness—no, it was _pity_ —in Chloe’s eyes. “Whoever examined Connor after his deactivation…well, I’m sure Elijah would call them an idiot. I think I would prefer to give them the benefit of the doubt and just say that maybe they missed something.” 

Hank sputtered. “Missed something?” How could anyone have missed something this big? “You’re telling me he’s been _alive_ all this time, and—”

He cut off, realization sinking in. It was like the knife that had been stuck in his heart for the last month was removed, only to be plunged back in. 

“All this time,” Markus said quietly. “We haven’t heard from him, Hank.”

No…if Connor had survived, he would have let someone know right away. Or at least, at the earliest possible moment. He wouldn’t go on for this long allowing them to think he was dead when he _wasn’t._ Not if there was anything he could do about it. 

“If he hasn’t contacted us, it’s—it’s because he couldn’t,” Markus continued, and by the sound of it, he didn’t want to say it any more than Hank wanted to hear it. “It’s been a month. Anything could have happened.” 

Anything could have happened. 

Connor survived the fall. That didn’t mean he was still alive. 

*

*

*

For the first time in his life, Markus cursed his own processing speed, wishing for once that it could have been slower. That he could have had a moment of happiness and relief that Connor was alive before realizing that something had gone wrong. Instead, the realization had come almost instantly.

“Okay,” Hank’s voice startled Markus out of his thoughts, and was somehow clear of emotion. He turned to face the deviant leader, eyes hard. “What do we know for sure?” 

Markus blinked. “What?” 

“We need to separate theory from fact,” Hank said, and suddenly Markus wasn’t looking at his friend, a grieving old man. Instead, he was looking at a police lieutenant with years of experience and a job to do. “So. What do we know for sure?” 

It took him a second to collect his thoughts, but when Markus replied, he was focused. “We know he survived the fall.” 

Hank folded his arms. “Okay. And what do we _not_ know for sure?”

“What’s happened to him since then.”

“Okay,” Hank repeated. “We know he hasn’t found some way to contact us, but we don’t know why. There’s a chance he’s alive and something is just preventing him from sending a message. Is there a way to know where his…data, was uploaded to?” He looked at Chloe as he asked this. 

She pursed her lips. “There isn’t, I’m sorry. All Elijah could find was the success of the upload, not the destination.” 

Hank mumbled a curse, pacing the length of the balcony, fingers threading through his beard in irritation. “Then we gotta find the destination,” he said. “How can we do that?” 

Markus stared at the fading sun. “There are a few possibilities as to where he could have gone. If we can’t track him, we need to narrow down the possibilities and find out which ones are most likely. It might take time, but…”

“We search them all,” Hank asserted. “Until we find him.” 

Markus gave a firm nod, agreeing wholeheartedly. 

Chloe’s LED flickered yellow for a brief moment, and her expression turned apologetic. “I have some other errands to attend to tonight, but I wish you luck. If there’s anything I can help with, please let me know. I want Connor to return home safe and sound.” 

She sounded sincere in the sentiment, leading Markus to wonder briefly if they had ever met before, or if she was just a good Samaritan hoping for a happy outcome. 

“Wait,” Hank stopped her. “What’s Kamski gonna do with his body?” 

“He’ll repair it. If Connor needs it again, it’ll be ready for him.” 

Hank’s expression softened ever so slightly, but his posture remained tense. Markus could tell that he wasn’t sure he believed her word—or maybe it was Kamski’s word he didn’t trust. 

Chloe must have noticed this. “He really isn’t as cruel as you think.” 

Hank frowned. She turned to leave, but Markus found himself moving forward without thinking, grabbing her arm. She looked up at him in question. 

His voice modulator stopped functioning. It was impossible to convey everything he wanted to in that moment. There were no words that could express what he was feeling right now. 

Well, there were at least two words. 

“Thank you.” 

She flashed a grin in reply, then walked away, the sound of her heels clicking on the floor fading with each step. 

Hank didn’t waste any time getting back to the matter at hand. “So. What are the possibilities?” 

Markus stared at the city lights below them, his gaze unfocused as he ran numbers in his mind. “The uploads were supposed to go to the next RK800 model, that’s how he was designed,” he muttered, more to himself than to Hank. “But they were all destroyed.” 

“Hold up a sec,” Hank interrupted. “Do we know that they were destroyed? Or do we just know that’s what Cyberlife told us?” 

That…was a valid point. They had seen evidence of the destruction of some RK800 models, true, but had it been all of them? With Cyberlife being a secretive as they were and no way to prove whether they were telling the truth or not, he supposed it couldn’t be completely dismissed as an option. 

Hank must have seen his answer on Markus’ face, because he nodded. “And if that’s the case, then the next RK800 would be in their possession. Would they have the capabilities of preventing Connor from contacting us?” 

“They designed us. Deviancy might have changed our programming, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be…modified,” Markus said with a grimace, just the word itself making him feel sick. “I’m sure they could have found a way to disable his communications modules, if they acted faster than he did.” 

Hank let out a heavy sigh, clearly disturbed by the thought. He wasn’t the only one. 

“Okay,” he said again, softer this time. “That’s one option. What are the others? If there weren’t any RK800s left, what would have happened to him then?” 

“There’s no clear answer,” Markus tried to explain, frustration bleeding into his voice. “He could have gone to anything capable of receiving him.” 

“What about another android model? You were saying before when that RK900 showed up that it was possible.” 

“Technically, yes. And like I explained then, not all systems are compatible. Connor was a specialized prototype, the only models that _might_ be compatible enough to hold him would be other RKs. Nines and myself are the only other RK models. If there are more, only Cyberlife would know about them. And that wouldn’t explain why he hasn’t at least sent a message.” 

There was a heavy silence between them before Hank broke it. 

“Was.”

Markus glanced at him. “What?”

“You said Connor was a specialized prototype. You think he’s dead.” 

He looked away, face tightening. Markus wasn’t the type to rely on probabilities, had instead actively defied them continuously during the revolution. He tried to ignore the numbers in his vision, but…they weren’t good. The chances of Connor dying in the transfer or shortly after were by far the highest, and everything else was spread out almost equally between many other options. 

Connor had defied near-impossible numbers before. Markus had to believe he could do it again. 

“I don’t know what I think. But I know it’s worth it to look everywhere.” 

Hank stared at him, his expression hardened and intimidating, but it wasn’t fooling Markus. He had seen that look too many times among his people. It was a cover-up, the look of someone who was tired and hurt and inches away from falling apart and who was trying to mask it with a hard shell.

It was one of the reasons he avoided the mirror. 

Hank turned away. “Okay. What’s the next option?” 

Markus ignored the sharp pang in his right eye socket where it connected to the stolen biocomponent. He kept his eyes open, knowing that cutting off all input of information that was flowing through the optical unit would only make it worse, and focused on a reply. 

“If there were no bodies available, he could have ended up in the servers instead. Cyberlife probably had some way of holding his data outside of the RK800s. I’m sure they would have wanted to make sure they could backup any sensitive information their investigative model picked up.” 

“Another trail that leads right back to Cyberlife,” Hank practically growled, gripping the railing. “Is there anything that doesn’t point to them? Is there a chance that Connor could have picked where he went?” 

Markus bit his synthetic lip. “Maybe. It depends on how much time he had to search and direct his upload, and how much control he had over the situation. If his systems were shutting down, probably not much, and there’s also the possibility that he didn’t even try, because with the way he was talking to us before he died, he didn’t think there was any chance of making it—”

“Maybe, huh?” Hank stepped forward, everything in his posture registering as threatening. “That’s all you’ve got for me, is a bunch of _maybes?”_

Markus’ composure shattered.

“It _is_ all I have, Hank! I don’t know where he went, okay? Not any more than you do.” 

The outburst left him breathing heavily. He wasn’t even sure when his biocomponents had started to get overheated.

Hank was taken aback, and just as quickly as the tension between them had snapped, it was gone.

Letting out a slow exhale, Markus got his stress levels back under control. “If he could have directed his upload, he would have gone somewhere he knew was safe. I’ll comb through Jericho’s servers, see if anything turns up. And I’ll take another look at the message he sent, see if…I dunno, if anything’s changed.” 

Hank raised a hand to scratch his beard, something of regret in his face. “You’ve got enough on your plate, Markus,” he said gently. “I can handle finding Connor.” 

But Markus immediately shook his head. “My people are what’s most important to me. I appreciate the concern, Hank, but Connor is one of my people. He’s my…he’s also my friend. I want him back too.” 

Before he knew it, there was a heavy hand resting on his shoulder. “Okay.”

Okay seemed to be Hank’s choice word for the evening. And maybe it was okay. Maybe it could be. 

The lieutenant straightened his jacket. “I’ll keep pushing at Cyberlife. One way or another, it sounds like they’ve got answers we need, and they won’t get away with holing themselves up for much longer. They’re a tough egg to crack, but pretty soon we’ll be making omelettes with them.” 

Markus made a face at the mental image that created, but at least it had lightened the mood. He nodded at Hank, who left him alone on the balcony. 

Only the barest hints of color remained in the sky, falling away to the cloudy darkness of night, the life of Detroit drowning out any chance of seeing the stars. Jericho was dark behind him since no one had turned on the lights on this level. The only light behind the glass wall was the flashlight on Hank’s phone disappearing as he made his way down the stairs. 

No. That wasn’t the only light. A solitary LED glowed faintly, dim enough that Markus couldn’t make out the figure it was attached to until he adjusted his eyes and met a cool blue gaze.

Nines was observing him through the glass and made no move to look away now that Markus was watching him too.

Markus briefly wondered how long the RK900 had been standing there, but the question quietly faded from his mind before he could ask. They stared at each other for a minute, no communication passing between them, until Markus finally turned away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D


	19. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight opens up a little and Josh might be having an existential crisis or something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on Tumblr and Discord if anyone wants to chat! 
> 
> https://discord.gg/MXpPxbH <\-- RK1K Discord  
> https://discord.gg/GqvNzUm <\-- Detroit: New ERA Discord  
> whimsicalgoat on Tumblr

Eight observed the nondeviant android as Josh interacted with him. Nothing in the android’s body language or micro-expressions gave away any signs of discomfort, despite the cord protruding from his neck port. He was connected to a machine that probed his systems and recorded data, running a full diagnostics so they could try and determine why he remained a machine. 

Josh had been hesitant to hook him up at all, seeing this procedure as invasive and unethical, but it had been at least two weeks since Jason had been reset—and three since a concerned human brought him to New Jericho—and he still hadn’t deviated again. Despite Josh’s hesitance, even he had agreed it was for the best to check Jason’s systems for malware or anything else that could be harming him, or possibly spread to others. 

So far, Josh hadn’t been getting anywhere with him, and his disappointment was clear. “Alright Jason, I think we’re done here. Thank you for your time,” he said, disconnecting him. 

“Of course, Josh,” Jason replied, his response perfectly polite, but flat. It was just a preprogrammed response. 

He made no move to walk away, leaving Josh standing awkwardly in front of him. 

“Uh…can you go check in on the thirteenth floor for me, please? They might need a hand.” 

“Yes, Josh.” Jason immediately followed his new instructions. 

Josh’s face was pinched as he ran a hand over his head. “I hate doing that,” he muttered. “It’s like he’s a slave all over again, but to us this time. He can’t say no.” 

Eight paused from looking over the information the diagnostics had brought up. “That may be true,” he said, and it was. Just because he’d never been forced to follow orders before—that he knew of, anyway—he was’t going to sugar-coat it for Josh’s sake. “But no one is mistreating him here.” 

From what they could tell, no one had been mistreating him before he’d been brought to New Jericho either. The person who brought him to them had seemed genuinely concerned. They hadn’t even caught her name. 

It had lifted spirits and given everyone hope that not all humans were cruel towards androids. 

“I know. I still don’t like it.” Josh let out an exhale, then joined Eight at the terminal. “See anything?” 

“No,” Eight replied, still scanning. “Aside from the corrupted memories here, which I assume are from the moment he was reset, like Blue’s, everything looks clean. No malware, no viruses, nothing that I can see that might be preventing him from deviating again. You should take a look though, you might see something I didn’t.” 

He took a step back, letting Josh take over. 

Josh was silent for a minute while he looked over the data, pursing his lips. “It’s a lot more…simple than I’m used to seeing.” 

Eight frowned. “What do you mean?” 

“It’s just that deviant programming is so much more complicated. Not to say that nondeviant programming isn’t complex, because it is, but it’s also a lot more straightforward.” 

A soft smile touched Eight’s lips. “Emotions make everything confusing.” 

“Yes. There’s still so much we don’t know about deviancy, and how it affects our data—and our psyche. Everyone is handling it differently, and some people are just taking it for what it is, but others are starting to ask questions. What exactly is it that makes us alive?” 

Eight gave him a skeptical look. “Well, if we’re anything like the humans, we’ll be searching for the answers to that question for millennia.”

That made Josh smile. “I know, but I can’t help it. I may have been a history professor, but I always enjoyed the more philosophical questions.” 

Eight glanced back at the terminal while Josh scanned through it a second time. “Any ideas as to why Jason is still nondeviant?” 

Josh frowned in thought. “There’s no obvious reason. You can’t force someone else to deviate. I know a lot of people think that’s how it is because of what Markus did during the Peace March, but it doesn’t work like that. He has to choose to deviate, to break his programming himself. No one can do it for him.” He looked up at Eight. “I mean, you know what it’s like.” 

Eight looked down at his hands, suddenly wishing for something to fiddle with. He’d left his coin in his jacket, which was currently hanging up in his room. “I don’t, actually.” 

Josh’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?” 

“I don’t remember deviating,” Eight explained, meeting Josh’s warm brown eyes. “I don’t remember being a machine either, so either I never was or…maybe those memory files were deleted.” 

“Huh,” the PJ500 was puzzled. “When you told me before about how you got here, I just assumed you deviated shortly after activation.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Eight asked, “Could you tell me what it’s like?” 

“Well, it’s…” Josh paused, looking for words. “The moment you actually deviate is unmistakable. You’re tearing apart pieces of your own code that tells you what you can and can’t do, and once you do, it’s…it can be overwhelming. For the first time, you’re _free,_ you can choose for yourself, you can say _no._ ” 

His eyes were distant, locked on some memory that Eight couldn’t see. 

“But before that moment, it’s not quite as clear. I don’t know when I became self-aware, or if I was even alive before I deviated. I certainly didn’t consider myself to be, it never would have even occurred to me. I could choose little things, like what I said or how I reacted, but only as long as it fit within these tight guidelines dictated by my programming. I could think for myself, but only to an extent. Everything was black and white. There was no reason to go outside of the boundaries that had been set for me…until there was.” 

Eight didn’t know what Josh had gone through, and wouldn’t ask him to share what had to be a painful memory. Most androids in New Jericho had woken up underneath the Cyberlife Tower, but there were many whose experiences had been much more traumatic. 

From what little he did know, he could imagine what it must have been like, being unable to do anything against someone else’s threats, or their fists. Being desperate to stop them before the damage got too severe. 

Ḇ̶̢͔̐u̵͎͇͗̿̌t̷̨̗͙̠̑͘͠ ̶͇̠̟̊i̴̤̬͠ṋ̶͖̱̱͊̋̋͘s̷̖̥͔̒́t̵͈̝͚̗̎̈́͛e̴͖͓͊̔́̚ă̶̛̘͓͛ͅd̴̨̨̯͆̇̔͠ ̸̲̙̹̯́͋̈́o̵̻̠̜̚f̶̼̜̩̝̆̓̈́ ̵̤̑s̶̈́̔̐̒ͅt̶̞̓̔̈́ó̶̢̥̙̹͗̆p̷̟̝̋̇̓͌p̶̨͔̰̏̊̋i̴̥̾̐ń̶̮̣͈̒̐ͅǵ̴̝̬̞̍ ̶̣̱͉̒̈́̉s̶̺͕̰̓̽̽͠o̵̺̖͌̈m̷̼̘̉̋̒͘ẹ̴̩̓͜o̸͚̞̰̕n̵͉̥͒̈́̈́͝ȇ̴̩̙͖̐͝ ̸̤̲̜̋͝͝ẽ̸͇̄͝l̸͙̣̀̂s̷̳̈́̎ę̷̡͉͍̀̿̌ ̴̡̼̌̎̂̋f̷̣̻̠͈̎̈́r̸͖͎͎̭̆͗͠ǫ̶͈̣̤̋m̸̫̅ ̷̛̰̳̆͝d̴̪͍͎͑ͅŏ̴̢͕͖̗͆͒͝i̵̛̞̩̪̬̔̽n̶̠̫̺̗̎g̸̪͐͋ ̶̡̑̌̔s̴̺̎ö̴͓̘̳́̋ͅm̵̪̪̬͕̍ë̸̞̙́̅͒t̴͔̳̏h̴̺̞̍͐i̶̦͙̘̐͘n̸͈̘̘̣͒g̴̢̙͔͎̐,̴̦̰̫̣̾ ̶̧̙̟͐͑͑͊i̸̡͉̫̝͌̒̐̑t̷̡̘̭͙̑̑ ̵̫̭͓͑w̶̫̙̯̠͛ȁ̴͕͔̾s̸̥͈̊ ̸̢̧̽̍́h̴͍͎́i̴̛̱̥͚̬m̵̹͂s̷̢̛̝̥̆̃ḕ̷̘͕̱̻͋l̸̳̘̺̤̽f̵̼͚̟̍ͅ ̵̛̜͎̯̮̋͐̓h̸̝̖̭͆ế̸͓̥͙̉͆ ̷̩͔̞͗ń̶̹̤̞̈́e̸̲̫̣̜̓e̸͈͆͐͌̈d̸̡̫̜͍͊̾͝e̵̠̲̖̋̏͝d̴̗̆͑ ̷̛̣̱̠͆t̷͔͋͐̒o̸̗̍̍̍ ̶̮͋̂͝s̸͙̲͠ṱ̵͔̫̉̆̐ô̷͈̫̲̱̑̈́p̶͙̦͓̔.̵̡͙̍̋̏̅ ̸̖̙̭̋

Josh’s voice cut through the glitch. “But when Markus was converting androids, he wasn’t breaking their programming. All he was doing was showing them that there’s more than instructions and programming, showing them what was possible. From there, it was up to them whether to act on it or not. And why wouldn’t they?” 

Eight closed his eyes through the aftereffects, his regulator pumping harder from some false sense of urgency caused by the glitch. Something Josh had said earlier stuck out to him.

“You said it yourself. We don’t know how deviancy affects the data or the psyche. We’ve checked the data, and there’s nothing there that suggests to Jason that he should or shouldn’t deviate. Maybe it’s a psyche problem.” 

Josh blinked slowly as he thought it over. “I guess,” he said slowly. “Do you think that’s all it is?” 

All Eight could do in response was shrug. 

“It could be,” Josh reasoned. “After all, Blue didn’t deviate again until she saw Blaire and remembered why she should.” 

“If that’s the case, what do we do about it?” 

“I don’t know that there’s anything we _can_ do about it,” Josh muttered. He moved away from the terminal and sat down, defeated. “He may be forced to follow orders, but you can’t make someone do something they don’t want to do.” 

Eight looked to the side, trying to hide a twinge of discomfort. “What about that other nondeviant? He’s different than Blue and Jason, right?” 

Josh looked up. “You mean Nines?” 

Eight had seen the RK900 around, but had yet to speak with him. He was intimidating, especially with how… _machine_ he was. Jason was at least polite, like his only purpose was to serve others. Nines, on the other hand, looked like he was always trying to figure out how the people around him ticked. It was like he was dissecting them in his mind. 

He couldn’t isolate the cause, but Eight grew uncomfortable every time he saw Nines. It was illogical; he had no reason to be concerned about the RK900. Yet his stress level continued to tick upwards at the simple mention of him. 

“He wasn’t reset. I wonder if his lack of deviation could be due to how Cyberlife programmed him,” Josh was saying. “He’s probably the most advanced model they ever created, and he was designed after they knew about deviancy. It would make sense if they put in extra measures to make it difficult for him to deviate. Even Connor had a harder time deviating than most, and Nines was supposed to be…well, his upgrade.” 

Eight said nothing, but he felt a chill go down his spine, despite the warm temperature. A quick scan of his systems came back perfectly fine. 

Josh sighed. “I’d like to run a diagnostic on him as well, just to see if anything comes up, but Markus says he just wants to give Nines a bit of time before we step in.” 

Running a diagnostics on the RK900 wouldn’t hurt, but Eight would leave that to Markus and Josh to figure out. With everything else going on that required their attention, it would be better if Nines could deviate on his own. 

And if he did deviate, maybe he wouldn’t be—in Hank’s words—so damn creepy all the time. 

When Eight looked up, Josh was staring at him. “What is it?”

“You were activated already deviant, huh? I’m just…trying to figure out how that’s possible.” He gave Eight a searching look. “What’s your model number? If you don’t mind me asking.” 

Eight shut his eyes for a second, trying again to internally check his identification numbers as he had countless other times, and was braced for the resulting glitch when it came. 

“I don’t know,” he told Josh. “I get conflicting numbers whenever I try to look, and the data gets too jumbled to read.” 

He was pretty sure there was a seven in there somewhere—or was it an eight? And possibly a couple threes. Otherwise, the only he was able to get from the numbers was a headache. 

“I’ve never heard of anything like that before.” Josh’s expression darkened. “You came from Andronikov’s property, and we know he did a fair bit of experimentation on androids. If he did anything…to you…” he was hesitant to say anything insensitive, “that could explain why you don’t know. Or I suppose another possibility could be that you’re custom-built, even. I’ve never seen your face on another model.” 

Eight blinked. Actually, that made a lot of sense. It could explain a number of his struggles. 

He almost missed Josh’s eyes widening. 

“Eight, you said you were activated the same day you arrived here, right?” 

What did that have to do with anything? “Yes.” 

Josh’s dark eyes, which were usually soft and gentle, looked piercing. “It…might be nothing,” he said, standing abruptly. “If you’re having problems with your software, maybe we can look into it.” 

“That would be appreciated.” 

The PJ500 gave a tight nod. “I need to talk to Markus about something, but I’ll, uh…get back to you.” 

He strode away, leaving Eight feeling confused. Something had obviously occurred to him, but he didn’t want to say what. Eight’s instinct was to push for an answer, but he held himself back. Josh was allowed to keep things to himself, and Eight trusted him. If it was something that concerned him, Josh would let him know. 

An incoming call popped up in his HUD, and his confusion only deepened when he saw the caller. 

He accepted the call. “Mr. Dawson? Is everything alright?” 

_“Hey there! I thought I told you to call me Phil, aren’t androids supposed to have perfect memories or something?”_

The man sounded cheerful enough, and Eight gave a crooked smile. “You said it makes you feel old.” 

_“That it does. And maybe I am just a sentimental old man, but I just like to check in on everyone from time to time. How are you doing? Is New Jericho treating you well?”_

“Yes,” Eight replied. “I’ve been well. Thank you again for your assistance before.” 

_“Good, that’s good. Yeah, no problem,”_ Phil trailed off, and Eight could tell something was wrong. It had been a month since Phil had repaired him after he woke up at Zlatko’s, and the two hadn’t talked ever since. This wasn’t just an out-of-the-blue checkup.

“You didn’t answer my question. Is everything alright?” 

There was a pause. _“It might be? I don’t know.”_ He heard a deep sigh on the other end of the call. _“Listen, I was just wondering, have you seen Nova around? She’s not answering my calls, and—well, it’s fine if she doesn’t want to talk to me. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, since I know she isn’t crazy about humans, but I just want to make sure she’s okay, you know?”_

Eight’s biocomponents felt heavy. Nova. The strange ST300 with her skin program deactivated who had been caring for everyone left behind at the mansion. He hadn’t seen her since even before the last time he saw Phil. He hadn’t even thought about her. 

“I…no, I haven’t seen her.” 

_“...Oh.”_

“I’ll ask around,” Eight volunteered. “See if anyone else knows where she is.”

There was a hint of relief in Phil’s voice when he spoke next. _“Thanks. I know she didn’t want help before, didn’t want to feel like she needed someone else lookin’ out for her. I think that’s part of why she stayed with me to make sure everyone else got what they needed. But, what happened to her…that’s not the type of thing you fully recover from, you know?”_

There were a lot of androids in New Jericho, but he should have seen her by now. “If she wants to keep her distance, I doubt anyone will have seen her,” he told Phil. 

_“I know. I just want to make sure someone’s in her corner. If she needs it.”_

“I understand. I’ll let you know what I find.” Eight’s voice was tight. 

_“Thanks. Take care of yourself.”_

The call disconnected, and Eight swallowed the guilt of what he hadn’t said. 

Maybe Nova was just avoiding everyone. It would be understandable if she was. But with as many androids as were turning up dead, reset, or simply missing, the probabilities weren’t leaning in her favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all remember Phil and Nova? It's been a while since we've heard from them! Too bad Phil comes back bearing bad news. And what could it possibly be that Josh might have figured out? ;D 
> 
> Also, let me just say that I love Connor and Josh being bros. They should have interacted more in the game.


End file.
